


You Will Be Found

by baloobird



Series: Ace Irondad and Spiderson [24]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Anti-Starker, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Aromantic Character, Aromantic Peter Parker, Aromantic Tony Stark, Asexual Character, Asexual Peter Parker, Asexual Tony Stark, Bruises, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Foster Care AU, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, May and Ben don't exist, Nothing is graphic I promise, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker isn't Spider-Man, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Recovery, Sleepy Cuddles, There is no Spider-Man, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark adopts Peter Parker, Tony Stark is a Good Dad, Vomiting, adoption au, infinity war and endgame don't exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 39,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27332338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baloobird/pseuds/baloobird
Summary: Today is going to be a good day and here’s why:Tony Stark is officially adopting Peter Parker.He’s damn near shaking as he signs the adoption papers, causing his signature to be sloppier than usual but as long as it gets processed, he doesn’t give a shit what it looks like.The man can feel his almost-kid bouncing next to him, knees acting like bobbleheads and his sneakers’ taps echo through the courthouse as he’s jostling his backpack.But not with dread by any means.(Comfortember 2020)
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Ace Irondad and Spiderson [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1750639
Comments: 761
Kudos: 574
Collections: Comfortember 2020, The Best Irondad/Spiderson Fics, The Best Peter Parker Whump Fics, The Best of the Best MCU Fics





	1. Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!! This is my fic for the Comfortember 2020 challenge!!! If you guys are interested in participating or want to learn more, please refer to my post [here](https://baloobird.tumblr.com/post/628378371956555776/comfortember)!
> 
> *****PLEASE READ MY TAGS!!!! Nothing is graphic but please be careful!! Since this is one long story, the heavy tags don't get discussed for a few chapters, I'll let you know when they do.
> 
> Yes the title is inspired by Dear Evan Hansen, I couldn't resist 😂
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!! 💜💜💜💜💜

Today is going to be a good day and here’s why:

Tony Stark is officially adopting Peter Parker.

He’s damn near shaking as he signs the adoption papers, causing his signature to be sloppier than usual but as long as it gets processed, he doesn’t give a shit what it looks like.

The man can feel his almost-kid bouncing next to him, knees acting like bobbleheads and his sneakers’ taps echo through the courthouse as he’s jostling his backpack. 

But not with dread by any means.

The two of them aren’t exactly strangers. Tony has known Peter for almost a year, ever since the day he gave the then fourteen-year-old the internship as his personal assistant. He still laughs at the shock on Pepper’s face when he dropped that bombshell.

-

“A  _ kid? _ Why a kid?” Pepper asked, settling into a chair on the other side of her co-worker’s desk, “A kid can’t exactly pay your bills -”

“I’ll get someone else to do that, relax,” the billionaire said, a smirk etched on his face as he pointed to the document in front of him, “Did you not see this guy’s application, he’s smarter than  _ me, _ certainly smarter than all these mediocre college kids -”

“But that’s the thing, Tony, they’re in  _ college, _ and you’re over here wanting to hire a teenager - wait a minute.” Pepper quickly snatched the application, skimming over it while muttering, “Public high school, foster care…” she then noted what she was looking for, “He’s not sixteen, you can’t hire him.”

“After-school programs are still a thing,” the mechanic quipped, “Since I can’t pay him, I’ll give him service hours, college applications still love that shit for some reason.”

“Why are you going through all this trouble when you can simply hire someone who’s  _ qualified _ -”

“He  _ is _ qualified. If he weren’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. Yes, he’s on the young side but he’s a freshman already taking AP classes, now  _ that’s _ impressive. By the time he’s a senior, there’ll be nothing left for him to take, I’m surprised he’s not in college already.”

The CEO sighed, her shoulders slumping as she gave into defeat, “I’m not gonna change your mind, am I?”

“You know me too well," Tony said, "I don’t know, Pep, I just, I got a good feeling about this guy. If I turn out to be wrong and he’s actually a part of some gang or drug cartel, I give you permission to say ‘I told you so.’”

“Oh, I won’t be saying it. I’ll have a megaphone and banner plane at the ready."

Pepper slid the application back to her friend, "You better not regret this, Stark.”

-

And that’s how it started.

This scrawny, awkward teenager with glasses as thick as his curly brown hair walked into Tony Stark’s life. The kid started out with simple tasks such as getting coffee that soon led up to the two of them working side by side while putting together an Iron Man suit. 

Ironically, Tony was the last to notice it, this growing attachment to the boy. He’d scoff at Rhodey’s and Pepper’s teasing, make comments about how ridiculous they’re acting, and  _ no, _ his life doesn’t revolve around some fourteen-year-old foster kid.

No matter what they say.

However, as the months flew by, the scientist found himself looking forward to picking up his intern from school - per his foster parents’ permission, of course - and hearing him talk about his day. Even when the goings-on was uneventful or boring, Peter’s bubbly personality remained a bright spot that Tony never wanted to see go away.

Which is why when it did, it came as a bit of a shock.

It didn’t take long for Tony to notice the sunken look in the boy’s eyes, the way he slumped as if he hasn't slept in weeks. 

Or the way he flinched when his boss barely nudged him while grabbing a suit part.

“You okay, kid -?”

“Yeah, just tired,” Peter retorted, his tone firm as if it’s a warning for “Just drop it.”

So Tony did, going against every red flag that was waving in front of his face. If the kid didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t make him, it’s none of his business anyway.

That is, until the end of school rolled around and the teen was still sporting one of his dozen or so ratty sweaters.

“How the hell do you still wear sweaters, it’s like eighty degrees outside,” the billionaire asked one day in the lab, curiosity getting the best of him.

“Um, y’know, you keep the air conditioning on like fifty, I have to wear this or I could die of hypothermia,” said boy joked, a smile forming that’s clearly forced.

“I can adjust it, it's not a big deal -”

“No, no it’s fine, I like wearing sweaters anyway.”

“Speaking of, you need a new one. There’s so much thread coming out of it I’m surprised it’s keeping you warm.”

“Ski-Skip keeps saying he’s gonna get me some new ones but no dice yet. He’s probably gonna wait till they go on sale or something.”

The man raised an eyebrow. The kid hardly ever mentioned his foster dad, not that it’s a bad thing, it’s just weird hearing the guy’s name said.

Also, unless it’s his birth name, what forty-year-old still calls himself “Skip”?

Again, Tony dropped the conversation. If something was bothering the kid, he trusted Peter to come to him. Surely, the teenager is comfortable enough to talk to him.

Right?

-

Peter spent his summer vacation damn near living at the tower, to the point where Tony even showed him his off-the-beaten-path lake house where he likes to go for an escape.

And that’s where he saw Peter smile for the first time in he can’t remember how long.

So the lake house became the new tower. 

Everything was good once again. 

Until it wasn't.

Peter’s fifteenth birthday was a scorching one, both in temperature and what Tony was about to walk into.

The hero had been to the kid’s house a number of times this summer to pick him up and have him “work” for the day, even met his foster parents who seemed nice enough.

Tony was just about to knock on the Westcotts’ front door when he heard screaming.

_ Screaming. _

And the voice sounded  _ too familiar. _

In seconds, Iron Man had the gauntlet take shape over his hand and he forcibly opened the door, gasping at what he saw.

There, in the living room, was Skip’s hand wrapped around his foster kid’s wrist.

Suddenly, everything clicked.

The drastic shift in Peter’s behavior, why he still wore sweaters despite the hot summer sun, the  _ flinching. _

And that is what leads to this day at the courthouse, signing paperwork Tony is too impatient and anxious to understand.

Of course, he’s excited, he loves this kid. It may have taken a break-in and a punch to Skip’s ugly face to realize that but he does.

Seems like he’ll be getting an “I told you so” banner plane after all but for the best reason.

All the same, Tony is absolutely  _ terrified, _ he doesn’t know how to take care of a kid. How does one  _ raise a kid? _

And it’s not like he’s had time to skim over any parenting books.

But then he takes a glance at said kid.

Peter’s hands are gripped together in his lap but it does nothing to ease the shaking. His face is scrunched up in concentration and he’s biting his lip in a way that shows how he’s equally scared at this life-changing situation.

But when he locks eyes with his soon-to-be parent, he smiles, making the man’s heart melt at the warmth in his eyes.

Both of them may be scared but at least it’s not at each other.

At long last, the final papers have been signed and initialed. After shaking the social worker’s hand, the two of them stand up, Peter putting on his backpack and Tony grabbing his kid’s trash bag -  _ literal _ trash bag - filled with his belongings. The man wants to do…something, give Peter a hug or wrap his arm around him as they walk out the door but he refrains, not wanting to make this situation more awkward than it already is.

The mentor-protege duo walk side by side to the car, Tony putting both the trash bag and backpack in his trunk before hopping into the driver’s seat and starting the vehicle.

The car is running but he’s not putting it in reverse.

“So,” the billionaire says, hands tightly gripped on the steering wheel, “How you feeling?”

He looks over at the boy to see him in a similar situation than earlier: hands intertwined in his lap and his posture straight as a board, as if he’s terrified of moving.

Honestly, Tony can’t blame him. With everything the guy’s been through, it’d be weirder to not be scared of such an uncertain future.

“Um,” Peter says, rubbing his shaking fingers so fiercely that some are turning red, “Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

“Your bruises healing up okay?”

“Yeah,” the teenager lifts the right sleeve of his burgundy sweater to show the purple and blue covering his forearm. Fortunately, it’s starting to yellow around the edges so that’s one small mercy.

“Does it hurt?” Tony asks.

“Only when I touch them.” Peter hurriedly pulls down the sleeve, his fingers gripping it to keep from moving, “Um…thank you.” He looks up at his hero but quickly looks away as awkwardness takes hold, “I-I don’t, I don’t know -”

“Me either,” the mechanic says with a smile, “Guess we’ll figure this out together, huh?”

The child nods his head, a faint smile of his own etching across his face, “Where’re we going?”

“Home,” Tony says with finality, “We’re going home, kiddo.”


	2. First Day/Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t thank me, bud, happy to do it,” he whispers, “Welcome to the first night of the rest of your life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I hope you enjoy!!!
> 
> In case you haven't noticed from the tags, I made them ace...it's my calling card at this point 😂
> 
> ***Trigger warning: references to bruises and past abuse (nothing graphic)
> 
> Also, don't get used to the length, this is the longest one out of the ones I've done LOL

In a matter of what feels like both one second and two decades, they arrive at the lake house.

Tony thought about the tower but decided the lake house will make for an easier transition. They like this place better, plus, it also has a bit more of a “homey” atmosphere.

However, despite the welcome, it’s also a bit awkward.

_ Is it always this awkward with new families or are we just overly awkward people? _

_ Asking for a friend. _

Tony hears his son - now  _ that’s _ going to take some getting used to - quietly sigh in relief when they get inside. The man’s heart breaks clean in two.

Because that’s not the first time he’s heard that exclamation.

_ This has become his safe haven. _

_ And now he gets to live here. _

Tony is still carrying the kid’s bag when he leads him upstairs to his new room in what used to be the guest room. Peter is already familiar with it since this is where he slept when he stayed over but the man doesn’t want to just leave him to his devices without any communication.

_ That’s the right thing to do as a parent, right? _

_ Of course, I’m right. _

_ But what if I’m wrong? _

The billionaire plops the trash bag on top of the bed, still unmade from when Peter slept over a couple of weeks ago. 

Tony can’t help but smile at that. If the boy already feels comfortable enough to leave his bed unmade then maybe this will all be fine.

“We can go out sometime tomorrow and can get you some new clothes,” Tony says, breaking the ice, “Unless you like wearing thirty-year-old sweaters,” he lightly quips.

Peter chuckles in response, “Just this one,” he gestures to the garment he’s currently wearing: the burgundy color contrasts his pale skin, along with various holes surrounding the collar and sleeves, implying that it has been well-loved. 

“It was my dad’s,” he says, fidgeting with some loose thread on the hem of the sweater, “It’s just, um…it’s comfy.”

“Well, if you  _ insist,” _ Tony jokes, giving him a sympathetic smile, “And the other dozen?”

“They were Sk-Skip’s, you can burn ‘em,” Peter says in a rush.

_ Burn them? That’s a bit extreme. _

_ But then again, Skip himself is a bit extreme. _

Tony takes notice that the teenager is purposely not looking at him as he starts unloading his trash bag, throwing the other sweaters on the floor while his remaining clothes are piled in a heap on his bed.

A plastic bag of toiletries follows, along with an old, beat-up laptop with its charger, a few bent books, and a couple of cheap action figures of a certain red and gold superhero.

Said man jokingly coos,  _ “D’aw -” _

“Shut up,” Peter says with a snort, “They came from ‘Happy Meals’, they’re not exactly valuable -”

“Or accurate.” Tony picks up one of the figures, inspecting the lack of detail and time that went into this toy, “McDonald’s really made me look this fat?”

“You’re in a suit -”

“A  _ fat _ suit -”

Peter cuts him off with a laugh, “Only  _ you _ would think about that.” He takes the toy from the other’s hands, observing it himself, “I think he’s cute.”

“Iron Man isn’t  _ cute _ -”

“He is when he’s made like this,” the teen shows off his prize, “How can you resist that  _ ‘wittle’ _ face,” he mocks, a snicker escaping him quickly followed by his hero.

“I’ll get you better action figures, how ‘bout that?” Tony asks.

“Nah, I like these ones, I’ve had them forever. I can’t just give them up now.”

Peter then unloads his phone charger, a three-ring binder for school that’s too big for his backpack, and a stuffed panda bear.

“Now, who is  _ this?” _ Tony asks, grabbing his kid’s plushie.

“Uh, that’s Ace,” the child genius answers, a faint shade of pink blossoming in his cheeks, “He likes surfing,” he adds on shyly.

“Then where’s his surfboard?” the man asks in jest, smirking at this conversation he can’t believe he’s having.

“He broke it during a tournament. He can’t afford another one so he decided to retire. Um, I did actually have a little surfboard for him but it got lost in one of the moves.”

_ Good God, how many times has he moved? _

“Is that why you named him ‘Ace’? ‘Cuz it’s a ‘surfer dude’ kinda name?”

“Well, it used to be ‘Pandy’ when I was little but I changed it. ‘Ace’ fits him better.”

“How’d you come up with it?” Tony asks with a snort.

“Um,” Peter takes back the stuffed animal, “Just…it just fit.”

“Uh-huh,” the mechanic says, raising an eyebrow, “Never thought I’d see you get cryptic over a teddy bear’s name.”

“It just fits, I can’t really describe it.”

“Okay, it’s your bear.” Tony takes a look at everything that has now covered the kid’s bed, “This is everything?” he asks exasperatedly.

_ No way does a person have this few belongings. _

“Almost.” Peter pulls out the last item from the bottom of his trash bag.

A framed picture of him with his parents.

The photo is of the three Parkers standing in front of a sign that reads “New York State Fair.” A younger Peter is being held by his dad, nested between him and his mom while holding a much newer panda bear plushie.

_ They look so happy. _

The man has never asked about Peter’s parents or how he ended up in the system and the kid has never told him. To be treading on these fragile waters right now is a weird feeling.

Not that things weren’t weird already.

“You got the panda at the fair?” Tony asks, trying to keep things light.

“Yeah.” Peter smiles at the picture, no doubt reminiscing on what looked like a fun day, “My mom won it for me with one of those shooting games. I was six and I could barely look over the table on my ‘tippy-toes.’” 

He then says solemnly, “This was the last thing we did like,  _ together. _ They…they died in a plane crash a couple months later.”

Tony expected it but his heart stings nonetheless. He knows the pain of losing both parents, the weight of loss on his shoulders that still holds him down to this day.

But he was an adult when he lost his parents, he could pick up the pieces as best he can and move on with his life.

Peter, on the other hand, is just a kid, a kid who had to grow up too fast in order to survive. 

And Tony decides right then and there that he is going to do his damndest to make sure this guy’s last few years of childhood are the best ones he can wish for.

What that’s going to entail, Tony has no idea, but his heart’s in it, so that’s got to count for something, right?

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says, grief etched into his tone, “I can’t imagine going through all that you have.”

Peter shrugs, his face that of a bored expression suggesting that he’s heard that same sentiment multiple times, “It is what it is.” He looks up at his new parent, “But I’m here now and, um, I know everything’s gonna be fine.”

“Better than fine,” the billionaire smiles, “I’m gonna be honest: I’m not exactly an expert on parenting -”

“I’m not exactly an expert on being someone’s kid so we’re both kinda new to this.”

Tony laughs despite himself, the kid following suit. The situation is  _ so _ unfunny; Peter not having a real family since he was six is not a cause for a giggle-fest.

Which makes it that much funnier. 

“So,” the older genius says. Before continuing, he takes inventory of the guest room that’s now his kid’s bedroom: a standard beige set consisting of a dresser, nightstand, and bed frame, average size walk-in closet, a wall-mount smart TV.

It’s as bland as a damn hotel room. The only thing missing is a Bible in the nightstand drawer.

“We gotta spice this room up a little bit,” he says, “The walls are as dead as my soul in that damn ‘Happy Meal’ toy.”

“Are you kidding?” Peter replies, gawking at the room himself, “This is the biggest room I’ve ever stayed in, at the least the biggest one that’s all to myself. I even have a TV, what else is there?”

“Something that screams, ‘This is a teenager’s bedroom, no dads allowed.’” He turns back to his kid, grabbing the trash bag and squishing it between his hands, “Well, we’re not going anywhere so we have all the time in the world.” When the bag is the smallest the man can possibly get it, he then says, “We’ll start with getting you an actual overnight bag, how does that sound?”

When he locks eyes with the child, he feels a sort of softness overtake him. He sees Peter’s eyes glisten from behind his glasses in unshed tears but the man pretends not to notice.

_ When was the last time he had an overnight bag? _

“Yeah,” the boy finally squeaks, hastily wiping his eyes, “Yeah, sounds good.” He sniffles, starting to gather up his pile of clothes, “Can I uh, wash clothes? Um, I just-I just don’t wanna smell like trash bags anymore.”

“Kid, you never have to ask to clean something, it’s all yours,” Tony chuckles, “So, celebratory dinner, whatcha thinking?”

“Uh,” Peter’s face scrunches in thought for a few seconds before he answers, “Chinese?”

“Sounds good to me, what do you normally get?” Tony asks, leading the two of them out of the room, his intern following with an armful of clothes.

The boy says, “Just whatever’s leftover.”

“Okay, that shit you just said? We ain’t ever doing that.”

-

Dinner was more casual and quite frankly  _ natural _ than Tony expected. 

Their meal was spent while sitting on the couch and watching some random movie that was on cable, just like the previous times when Peter has stayed over.

As nice as tonight has been, Tony can’t help but let his mind wander.

The half-dozen or so times that Peter has come over, the hundreds of times he’s been to the tower.

He was being abused right under Iron Man’s nose.

How can Tony call himself a hero when he didn’t see what was right in front of him? He even noticed the blatant behavior change and didn’t look into it, didn’t do a damn thing to help him.

And maybe if he did, the kid wouldn’t have slowly healing bruises at this very moment.

He could’ve taken him in months ago.

The older man quickly shakes his head to snap out of his thoughts. He thinks back to what Rhodey has said, how he has nothing to feel guilty over and to focus on the present, how he can help the kid  _ now. _

_ Now. _

What exactly does he do  _ now? _

Giving Peter a loving home with everything he needs and then some is the easy part of the “job.” 

But the poor kid hasn’t said a word about the abuse, just vague descriptions about how he got the bruises and where.

So how does Tony help him with that?

The billionaire’s thoughts are cut off by a yawn. His head turns to the teen beside him, seeing the other’s eyes droop as his head leans against the back couch cushion.

“Getting sleepy over there, bud?” he asks, laughing at the guy’s glasses getting crooked.

Peter’s eyes open suddenly, widening in what looks like fear as he sits up, straightening his spectacles, “Nah, I’m good,” he says, stifling a yawn.

Tony’s eyebrows narrow as confusion sets in. 

_ Is he…afraid to go to sleep? _

_ He’s never acted like this before. _

Instead of coaxing the child to bed, the mechanic decides on a different approach, “So, since this, uh, is a thing now,” he gestures to the two of them, “Guess we gotta lay out some ground rules, huh?”

“Like what?” Peter says, yawning full force this time thus making it obvious how tired he actually is.

“Well, y’know, bedtime at around eleven. It’s now,” the hero looks at his phone, “Twelve-thirty…I’m doing great so far.”

That elicits a giggle out of the boy, “Tonight was a celebration remember? You get a pass this time.”

“Yeah, let’s call it that. So, curfew, nine PM on weeknights and eleven on weekends, sound good?”

Peter lays his head against the throw pillow by the armrest, “Yeah,” he drawls, “I don’t get out much anyway so…” he finishes with a shrug.

“Okay, good.”

_ Am I good or am I good? _

“Better not be sneaking any girls in here unless you wanna face off against Iron Man,” Tony says, smiling cheekily.

The boy laughs fully, snorting so loud that he uses the sleeve of his sweater to rid his nose of snot, “Uh, not exactly into that so you got nothing to worry about -”

“Or boys,” the billionaire retorts, “Don’t think I’m too stupid not to see that loophole.”

Peter keeps laughing, giving his new dad an amused grin, “Perks of being asexual: I’m not gonna do anything like that.”

That shocks Tony to the core, “Wait,  _ what?” _

He sits up on the couch cushion, getting a good look at his kid’s face, wrapping his head around why the fuck he’s hearing things.

_ Did he just say what I think he just said? _

The teen sits up as well, his stature more cautious and uptight, eyes broadening in alarm, “Um,” he starts, scooting away from his father, “I’m-I’m asexual, so you, uh, you don’t have to worry about me, um,” his voice teeters as he says, “Having s-sex or anything.” 

He quickly looks down at his bare feet, the flush in his cheeks making it impossible not to notice the growing embarrassment.

“Wow,” Tony says, his grin a mile wide, “I’ve never met another ace person before.”

Peter’s head quickly snaps to meet his, so fast that Tony swears he heard the guy’s neck crack, “Oh my God, no way -”

_ “Yes, _ way,” the mechanic says, “I’m ace too so no need to bring out your ‘PowerPoint’ to tell me what it is.”

“Oh my God,” the child’s eyes brighten from behind his glasses, scooting closer to the older man, “You serious?”

“Dead serious. We’ve known each other for what, a year? And we’re just finding out about this  _ now? _ Even with your damn panda bear, I still didn’t see it -”

“This is the coolest thing ever!” Peter’s face falls as he continues, “I, uh, I told my foster family when I found out but they said it wasn’t real and just laughed at me so…it’s really cool that-that we’re alike like that.” Again, his face flushes which in Tony’s mind, has got to be the most adorable thing to ever exist.

“Well, fuck them, pun intended. Now, as much as I would love to continue talking about ace stuff, I think a certain someone is ready for bed.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, confirming his answer in the form of another yawn.

_ Huh. _

Tony then takes notice of how much closer Peter is sitting next to him, no kind of panic in his stance from that fear of sleeping.

It’s like this kid has made a complete one-eighty but the apprehension is still there nonetheless.

_ Maybe the sudden change is getting to him. _

“Want me to tuck you into bed?” Tony asks, feeling his own cheeks heat up at the possibly inappropriate question.

_ He’s fifteen, do fifteen-year-olds still get tucked in? Do they like being tucked in? _

_ Is it too early in my parenting to tuck him in? Are we even there yet? _

As if reading his mind, Peter says with a scoff, “I’m fifteen, I don’t need to be tucked in like a baby.”

_ So he answered my question. _

_ But also, not really. _

The hero senses the uneasiness pouring out of this kid. He can tell the poor guy wants and  _ needs _ to sleep but something is holding him back.

Try as he might, Tony can’t put his finger on it.

“You may not need to be tucked in but do you  _ want _ to be tucked in?”

Peter locks eyes with his mentor, searching through them as if the man is hiding something behind his brown irises.

Finally, the boy caves, nodding his head, “Don’t judge me.”

“I would never.” Tony starts to put his hand on the other’s back but recoils at the last second, worrying if that’s crossing a boundary, “Us aces gotta stick together after all.”

A sleepy smile forms across the boy’s face as he gets up, muttering an almost inaudible “Thank you” as he heads up the stairs.

After the kid’s night routine is complete, Tony follows him to his new bedroom and sits on the edge of his son’s - yeah, that’s still weird - bed, heart blossoming at seeing him curl up with his plushie.

Tony takes a chance and ruffles the teen’s hair, silently sighing in relief when he relaxes in the comfort. “G’night, kiddo,” he says softly, using every muscle he has not to kiss him on the forehead like Jarvis used to do.

_ We are  _ definitely _ not there yet. _

“‘Night,” Peter says, his voice droning as he starts to drift to sleep, “Thank you.”

_ Something tells me that that was not a “thank you” for tucking him in. _

“Don’t thank me, bud, happy to do it,” he whispers, “Welcome to the first night of the rest of your life.”


	3. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Boss, Peter Stark is in distress.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next few prompts are much shorter because they all go together. I could've combined them into one chapter buuuuut what's the fun in that 😂
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!! No trigger warnings in this one.

Tony is the epitome of exhaustion when he is startled awake a few hours later.

What the hell woke him up? The air conditioning unit, dishwasher he ran before he went to bed, or some weird noise with the refrigerator?

He then flinches at hearing his AI announce from the ceiling, “Boss, Peter Stark is in distress.”

The man groans as his head hits the pillow, now knowing that FRIDAY is what awoke him and not anything with his house, “How is he?” he asks, voice raspy due to sleep.

“Could be better,” the AI replies, her sassy voice taunting him with the dumb question, “He seems to be having a nightmare.”

With another groan, Tony slowly gets up, his yawn so big that it takes a second for him to breathe. 

This isn’t his first rodeo by any means, Peter has had nightmares while in the hero’s care. He thought the adoption would steer him away from these bad dreams but apparently not.

Peter has never told him about what these dreams entail but he’s made educated guesses.

Tony peeks into his kid’s room to see him tossing and turning on his bed. The child’s covers are wrapped around his legs, his hair a mangled mess, and the whimpers break his father’s heart.

“Peter?” the mechanic whispers, racing to the kid’s side. He raises his voice, “Peter, it’s me, you gotta wake up, kiddo.”

He softly nudges his intern’s shoulder, recoiling when the kid violently flinches. Before Tony can try again, Peter whispers in his sleep, “No…please no. Stop, _please.”_

Tony tries again. He feels awful for shaking him but how else will he wake him up? “Peter, it’s okay, it’s just me.” His shaking grows rapidly, as does the desperation in his tone, “Peter, _wake up!”_

The outburst is what did it. The teenager hastily sits up in his bed, the fear in his eyes seen due to the hallway nightlight and sweat covering his brow. He looks at his dad, said man expecting him to calm down but the complete opposite happens instead.

The poor kid screams in absolute terror.


	4. Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Get away from me!” Peter cries, sliding back until he hits the wall behind him. He curls his knees to his chest, gripping onto his sweater sleeves to keep from riding up. He then drags his comforter with him, acting as his shield.
> 
> From what, Tony isn’t sure he wants to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's prompt 4!! I hope you like it!!!
> 
> ***Trigger warning: this is where the heavy tags start coming into play, they're sliiiiiiightly hinted at but I promise nothing is graphic. There is also an anxiety attack in this one, please be careful!!

Peter quickly scoots away from his dad, so fast that he overestimates the size of his bed and with a frightened yelp, he topples over the side, taking most of his covers with him.

Tony turns on the nightstand lamp for some additional light before racing around the bed, kneeling to his son’s eye level, “Hey, you okay, buddy?” he asks, keeping his voice soft as he inches closer, “You’re not hurt, are you -?”

“Get away from me!” Peter cries, sliding back until he hits the wall behind him. He curls his knees to his chest, gripping onto his sweater sleeves to keep from riding up. He then drags his comforter with him, acting as his shield.

From what, Tony isn’t sure he wants to find out.

“Pete,” the man says. He sits down next to the foot of the bed, giving himself a wide distance between the two of them, “You’re not there anymore. Whatever your brain’s showing you, you’re not there, it’s just me now -”

His intern cuts him off with a whimper, “Please don’t.” He starts taking several deep, elongated breaths, his trembling fingers in an iron grip on his comforter and his body can’t stop fidgeting no matter how tightly he hugs his knees. 

“Please don’t,” he repeats, this time with dread in his tone, helpless even.

_ This exact same scene went on in the foster home. _

“Peter, I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want me to do, okay?” Tony says, “What do you want me to do, what should I do?”

Peter’s only response is in the form of more frantic breaths, the fidgeting worsening to the point where one of his sleeves rides up.

Making it impossible not to look at those bruises.

“Okay,” Tony says, daring himself to scoot closer, “Okay, Peter, can you hear me?”

Again, the child doesn’t respond other than with a minute whimper.

The older man decides to continue, “Just take some slow, deep breaths, take your time.”

It takes almost a full minute before the teen listens, his pants slowly turning from panicked to relaxed.

Well, not  _ completely _ relaxed but better than before.

“That’s it, buddy,” Tony says, “You’re doing great.”

The next several minutes are spent in that same position, with Peter hunched over while using the same breathing technique and his adopted father sitting idly by, unable to do anything more than give words of encouragement.

What Tony wouldn’t give to sit right next to his kid, to hold him and let him know that he’s here and he’s  _ safe. _

Again, the man takes a chance and scoots even closer, to the point where there’s about an arm’s length of distance between them.

“It’s okay, Pete, I’m not going anywhere,” he says, not knowing if that sentiment will do any good but he doesn’t want to not say anything either.

“M’ser,” the intern starts, taking another deep breath before he shifts his head in his elder’s direction, “M’ser St’rk?”

“Right here, kiddie,” the hero says with a smile. He gradually reaches out to give his kid a heartfelt squeeze on his shoulder but a sudden outburst from the boy gives him goosebumps.

_ “Don’t touch me!” _

Tony recoils instantly, so shocked that he scoots back a few inches. He takes a moment to get his own breathing in order before he says, “Okay…okay, noted.”

He doesn’t say anything more. What the hell  _ can _ he say?

Peter has told him about the abuse, he’s told him about the yelling, the bruises, cuts, cigarette burns.

So it makes complete sense for the boy to shout like that considering the state he’s in.

But why is Tony’s mind now going to much,  _ much _ darker places?

The man can feel his breathing hitching up, not unlike the kid. He finds himself unconsciously rubbing his hands over his bare kneecaps as that statement settles.

_ No. _

_ There’s no way. _

_ He would’ve told me. _

Tony had a feeling from the moment he took him in that Peter hasn’t told him everything, and the boy probably never will.

But Peter would’ve told him if the abuse went further than physical.

Right?

That is such an important piece of information that would alter the teen’s psyche forever. 

It’d be impossible not to tell him.

_ He hasn’t said anything. If he hasn’t said anything, then what I’m thinking about obviously didn’t happen. _

_ It didn’t. _

_ I’m way overthinking all of this. _

Tony shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the now and worry about the past later.

For now, he just wants to get his kid back to sleep.

“Oh my God,” Peter says unexpectedly, lifting his head from his knees, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to -”

“It’s okay,” the billionaire says, a tired smile forming across his face as he holds up both hands to keep him calm, “It’s okay, you were scared, I get it. How’re you feeling now?”

“Um,” Peter looks all around him, as if it’s the first time he’s seen this room, before circling back to his mentor, “I don’t know,” he says, eyes widening in fear.

“That’s okay, it’s okay. It sounded like a scary dream you had.”

The teenager nods his head, “It was.” He then says, a slight squeak in his voice, “I’m sorry. I-I-I thought you were Sk-Skip, I’m so sorry -”

_ “It’s okay,” _ Tony repeats, “I’m not mad, I’m just glad you’re finally out of it. What do you wanna do now?”

Again, Peter looks around the room, eyes brightening in familiarity so the armored hero takes an educated guess that he’s slowly getting back to normal, complete with cheeks the color of lobsters.

“Crawl under a rock and die,” the boy says, resting his forehead back against his knees, “I’m such a fucking idiot -”

“You were scared, don’t beat yourself up, doing that doesn’t do anybody any good.” Tony’s voice lowers as his own bout of shame kicks in, “I know from experience.”

The boy’s head jerks up at that, “Wait, you’ve done this?”

“Oh yeah,” Tony says, snorting at some memories he’d rather forget, “A few times. Rhodey and Pepper can tell you firsthand.” 

“But you’re  _ Iron Man.” _

“Yep,” said hero chuckles, “Iron Man who has it pretty fucked up under that suit…and the day the public finds out is the day I’m six feet under.” 

To the man’s relief, a shy smile spreads across his son’s face, his grip slacking on the comforter, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Good.” Tony takes another chance, “I hope this lets you know that whatever secrets  _ you _ may have,” he locks eyes with the kid, “They’re safe with  _ me.” _

Peter’s face falls, his cheeks darkening profusely, “Thanks for all of this. Sorry I woke you up.”

“I’m glad I did…wanna talk about it?” 

The young genius hastily shakes his head, “No, I just, I just wanna forget about it.” 

“I get that. You wanna go back to bed?”

Again, the boy shakes his head, “What if I get that dream again -?”

“Remember, I’m right down the hall. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

With another deep breath, the teenager’s knees fall, his feet stretching past his hero. He then says as he’s pushing away the covers, “It’s hot.”

“Well,  _ yeah,” _ Tony snickers, “‘Cuz you’re wearing a sweater in the middle of August, don’tcha have a regular shirt?”

“Um,” Peter sheepishly scratches the back of his neck, “Not a long-sleeve one.”

The mechanic gives him a sympathetic look, knowing exactly why the kid is so hesitant, “Look, the only thing I care about right now is making sure you’re comfortable and able to get a good night’s sleep. Whatever you don’t want me to see under there,” he gestures to the sweater, “I can leave -”

“Please don’t!” The boy quickly looks down in what Tony assumes is embarrassment, “I just don’t want you to feel sorry for me, that’s all,” he mutters.

The man simply shrugs, “That’s fine -”

“I mean it. None of this  _ ‘Aww’ _ or any of that shit.” Peter bites his lip before he concludes, “It’s not exactly pretty.”

_ Don’t react, don’t react, don’t react. _

“You have my word. So, you wanna get up off the floor? I don’t know about you but my ass is going numb.”

“Same,” Peter chuckles. He stands up and helps his dad up as well. As he’s getting a lighter shirt to wear, Tony straightens the covers, keeping himself occupied while the other changes.

He circles around the bed, fluffing up the scattered pillows when he accidentally catches his kid slipping on a pale white T-shirt.

That’s when he notices it.

More bruises.

Not only on his back like the scientist expected, but there’s also a few older ones on each side of his hip, just peeking out over the waistband of his sweatpants.

That makes Tony pause.

_ Bruises. _

_ On his hips. _

He forcibly keeps the incoming dark thoughts out of his head but a few seep through anyway, taking him back to that outburst from earlier.

_ Don’t go there, brain, don’t go there. He would’ve said something if anything like that happened. _

_ He would’ve. _

_ So nothing happened. _

He keeps a straight face as the kid slips into bed, yawning while curls up with his panda plushie. Tony pulls the covers up to the child’s chest and ever so carefully sits on the edge of the mattress, ready to jump back up if this is pushing any boundaries.

“Anything else you need, underoos?” he asks, giving the other a gentle smile.

Peter tightens his grip on his stuffed animal, clearly still in a state of fear but he shakes his head nonetheless, “Thanks again.”

Tony wants to do something.

He  _ needs _ to do something. Obviously, this guy isn’t going back to sleep.

But what the fuck does he do?

_ I seriously need to start on a parenting book. _

He sighs in despair, low enough for the boy not to notice, and pats his son’s knee before getting up. “I’m right down the hall, like I said,” he states, “If you need anything - and I mean  _ anything _ \- don’t be afraid to yell, okay?”

Peter’s only response is with a simple nod of his head, “‘Night.”

“‘Night.”

Not two seconds after Tony turns off the nightstand lamp, he feels a sudden hand gripping tightly in his own.

“Please stay.”


	5. Cuddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before he says anything, Peter lets go and scoots to the other side of the bed, his pleading look barely seen due to that nightlight.
> 
> But just noticeable enough to tug at his dad’s heartstrings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short and sweet one, I hope you like it!!
> 
> ***Trigger warning: there is talk about Peter's living situation with Skip but it doesn't reveal anything.

Now how can Tony deny that?

Before he says anything, Peter lets go and scoots to the other side of the bed, his pleading look barely seen due to that nightlight.

But just noticeable enough to tug at his dad’s heartstrings.

_ “Okay, _ you twisted my arm,” Tony says, lightly smirking as he climbs on top of the covers, propping a pillow against the headboard. He then starts ruffling the other’s hair while also making sure his hands are in the kid’s line of sight.

“This is nice,” Peter says after a few minutes pass, sighing contently as he leans into the comfort, “S-Skip’s never done anything like this.”

“Skip sounds like an asshole.”

“He was.” The boy’s voice lowers exponentially, “I hated living with him.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“What’s gonna happen to him?”

“Eventually, his ass is gonna get sent to prison, but don’t focus on that right now, okay? At least now he can’t have any more kids in his care.”

Peter nods his head in agreement, “Sorry if I freaked you out -”

“I did not just hear you apologize for something that’s out of your control.”

“But I feel bad-”

“Don’t, I promise it’s all okay.”

Again, the boy nods his head, moving closer to his dad, his head laying right next to the other’s thigh, “Am I gonna like - am I gonna like have to say what happened? And stuff?”

“I think so.” Tony moves his hand from his kid’s hair to his shoulder, “But we don’t have any details yet so try not to worry about that.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Yeah,” the mechanic says, “I’ll be right there the whole time, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Peter whispers, “I just hate talking about it.”

Tony feels the teen tense up under his touch so he increases his speed on the comfort, “I know, I get it. But right now, you don’t have to say a word.”

_ No matter how much I want you to. _

“I just want you back to sleep, buddy,” he continues, “We’ll worry about that stuff later -”

Peter cuts him off with a yawn, “‘M not tired.” He proceeds to lay his head on the older man’s leg, squeezing it along with his plushie.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Tony quips with a snort, “So my leg has become a new plushie?”

“Yup,” the child drawls, his voice indisputably tired, “You should sell these, they’re comfy.”

“Is this just code that you want me to stay?”

After a second’s hesitation, Peter nods his head, “Please? I promise I won’t make it a habit or anything, I’m just-I’m just…”

“Just what?”

_ How can I be desperate to know something but also not wanna know at the same time? _

_ C’mon, tell me, kid. _


	6. Afraid to Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What the hell could he still be scared of?_
> 
> _The nightmare maybe?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one that's short and sweet, I hope you like it!! No trigger warnings in this one 💜

“Scared.”

Peter briefly looks up at his mentor but avoids his gaze, embarrassment obviously taking hold.

_ Still? _

_ What the hell could he still be scared of? _

_ The nightmare maybe? _

Tony goes back to ruffling his son’s hair. He takes a deep breath and decides to go for it, “May I ask what you’re scared of?”

The boy tightens his grip on the other’s leg, shaking his head against the bare skin, “It’s embarrassing, and it’s a stupid thing to be scared over -”

“There’s a lot of stupid shit  _ I’m _ scared over.”

“Like what?” Peter says with a disbelieving grunt.

“Well, I’m scared of the dark for one.”

“Wait, really?” The boy chances another look at his dad, “Um, I-I don’t like the dark either.”

Tony’s voice turns unexpectedly grave, “You never know what could be lurking in the dark, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Peter mutters, curling in on himself, “Or  _ who _ could be lurking in the dark.”

_ I should’ve killed Skip Westcott when I had the chance. _

“Skip?”

The teenager nods his head, “I…I see him sometimes, even though I know he’s not there. I don’t know, tonight I’m just, I keep seeing him and-and,” his breathing hitches up, “And just -  _ please stay _ -”

“I promise I’m not going anywhere, it’s alright -”

“No, it’s not,” the kid whines, “He’s not even here, I shouldn’t be like this -”

“You shouldn’t’ve been living there, to begin with, but that’s the hard truth about demons, kiddo, they don’t go away that easily.”

A blanket of silence follows, with Tony comforting his kid the only way he knows how, his heart shattering at how much pain the young genius must be experiencing. 

Despite being there for him, Peter is alone and suffering in silence.

“Is that why you’re afraid to go to sleep?” Tony asks, “You’re afraid Skip might be here when you wake up?”

His protege nods his head, voice teetering, “And, um, and do what he did when I lived with him.” 

The billionaire hums in sympathy, “What can I do to get you to sleep?”

“I don’t know,” Peter says with a shrug, “No one’s done what you’re doing since my parents, this should’ve worked.”

“Kid, you’re not a game where there’s only one way to win, there’s much more to our psyche than that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Peter sighs, “If only life was that easy.”

“Amen to that. So, when you were little, what would your parents do if you couldn’t sleep?”

“Not sure, to be honest, it’s getting harder to remember them. There is this one thing I remember us doing though.”

“What’s that?”

“We liked camping. We wouldn’t even go to a campsite most of the time, my dad would set up a tent in the backyard and we’d pretend. We had this, um, this small chimney thing -”

“Chiminea?”

“Yeah, that.” Peter’s voice grows adorably excited despite the lingering exhaustion, “We had that and we’d make hot dogs and s’mores and stuff.” His voice grows quiet as he concludes, “I remember it being a lot of fun.”

“It sounded like fun,” Tony says with a smile, “Your parents seem like they were nice people.”

“They were, they were the best. I wish, uh, I wish you coulda met them.”

“Me too.”

Another bout of silence falls over them. Tony leans his head against the headboard, blinking multiple times to keep from falling asleep.

_ For once, I actually think I could go to bed. _

To keep himself awake, he takes a look around the dimly lit room, the brightness of the moon shining through the closed blinds, miscellaneous items piled on top of the dresser, the partially open closet filled with clothes along with extra sheets and blankets.

_ Wait a second - _

_ Sheets and blankets? _

“Hey, kid?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your opinion on camping inside?”


	7. Blanket Fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s nice, for lack of a better word.
> 
> They’re both exhausted so “nice” is as smart-sounding as it’s going to get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!!! I hope you enjoy the tooth-rotting fluff, no trigger warnings in this one!
> 
> This is also the last prompt for awhile that's under 1k words 😏

The two of them get to work. Peter shoots out of bed and grabs the blankets from the closet while Tony moves the nightstand away from the bed. The man then grabs the mattress and drags it to the floor, wanting them to at least have something comfortable to sleep on whilst “camping.”

In minutes, the guest bedroom has transformed into the sloppiest tent one has ever seen.

Hey, with it being almost four o’clock in the morning, they’re not exactly shooting for perfection.

In addition to the nightstand, Tony dragged two chairs from the dining room to act as stakes for their tent, putting them where the nightlight is still in their line of sight. 

Peter grabbed his laptop and plugged it into a nearby outlet so they can watch something while they fall asleep. He then placed his three-ring binder and a few other heavy objects on both the bed frame and the chairs’ seats so the coverings won’t fall and scare the shit out of them.

After turning on some old sitcom from Tony’s  _ Netflix, _ they finally settle.

It’s nice, for lack of a better word.

They’re both exhausted so “nice” is as smart-sounding as it’s going to get.

The two of them are laying side by side under the covers. Peter is angled in such a way so he can watch the show - how he’s watching without his glasses, Tony has no idea - while the man himself is staring at the underside of a dip in the sheet above them, moving along with the flow of the air conditioning roaring from the vents.

Everything in him is wanting to comfort his kid. Hell, he wants the support almost as much but he’ll never admit it.

He did say he doesn’t like the dark, after all.

_ Kid’s gotta make the first move. Always the kid first. _

As if reading his mind, Peter does just that in the form of using Iron Man’s chest to act as his new pillow.

“So you’ve graduated from my leg, huh?” said hero says with a smirk.

A dopey smile spreads across the kid’s face, his eyes drooping as he turns to his father, “Yeah, leg pillows aren’t as comfy.”

“At least now my leg won’t go to sleep.” Tony puts a hand on the back of his son’s neck and starts ruffling his hair at the nape of it.

_ Damn, I needed this. _

Peter sighs fully as he closes his eyes, seemingly in absolute content.

_ Holy shit, this is working. _

_ But I really hope we don’t have to do this every night ‘cuz this shit’s exhausting. _

“This is nice,” the child mumbles, wrapping his arm around the other’s torso, “I like camping inside.”

“Don’t get used to it,” the scientist quips, a yawn escaping him, “‘Cuz we’re not making this a habit.”

The young genius snickers under his breath, “Oh, c’mon, you like this too, don’t lie.”

“‘M not saying I don’t but we’re not doing this every night -”

“But hey, like you said,” Peter drawls with a yawn, “T’night was a cele’tory thing. So this is special.”

“We’re gonna be using that excuse for the rest of the month, aren’t we?” Tony says, softly laughing at the kid stumbling on his words, “So,  _ now _ you wanna go to sleep?”

He feels the boy’s head nod against the center of his chest, slowly checking out judging by the droops becoming few and far between.

“Okay,” the billionaire says, sighing in relief, “‘M gonna put you back on your pillow -”

“Nooo, I wanna stay w’  _ you.” _ Peter tightens his grip on his hero, “You’re too comfy.”

Tony chuckles despite himself, “As adorable as this is, you’re gonna have a sore neck in the morning if I actually keep you like this. You’ll also get a sore back, possibly even a sore hip, and what kinda dad would I be if I let that happen - kid?”

He looks back at his protege, taking note of how his eyes are no longer drooping and his breathing is evening out.

_ Finally. _

_ Fucking finally. _

_ So me talking incessantly about random shit is what did it, marking that “page” with a post-it note. _

Tony takes a moment to watch this kid,  _ his kid, _ sleep soundly at long last, the light snores making his mouth uptick in an unexpected smile.

_ Wait, is it creepy to watch your kid sleep? _

_ I’m happy that I finally got him to sleep, I’m just basking in our victory. _

_ But still, this might be creepy. _

As gently as he possibly can, Tony picks up the teenager’s head while also using one hand to support his torso, and scoots him onto his pillow next to him. The way Peter curls up with his panda bear gives the man a surge of warmth reaching from head to toe.

He starts to turn off the laptop but decides against it; if Peter is anything like him, he sleeps best with some kind of familiar sound on in the background.

Tony then carefully stretches out onto the bed, taking one last look at his kid before he finally nods off to sleep himself.

_ And this kid is all mine. _

_ How did I get so lucky? _


	8. Lashing Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We can’t keep going like this._
> 
> _Something’s gotta give._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****Trigger warning: the archive warning and the heavy tags start to come into play here, nothing is explicitly said in this chapter but tomorrow's chapter will, please be careful! And I'll warn you guys again when I post the next prompt tomorrow.
> 
> Again, nothing is graphic, I promise! I hope you guys enjoy the chapter 💜💜💜

Two months have passed and while they’re the best of Tony’s life, he’d be lying if he said there weren’t any bumps along the way either.

For one, Peter is homeschooled as of now. The boy expressed several times that he’s not ready, not after everything with Skip. Besides, it’s not like he was learning anything with the public high school curriculum anyway.

And two, are the nightmares, which have become a dime a dozen. Tony doesn’t mind comforting the kid but all the same, he was  _ not _ expecting this.

He doesn’t remember him doing this the other times he’s slept over. Sure, maybe one bad dream here or there but certainly not this occurrence happening a few times a week.

The worst part is:

Tony has no idea how to fix it.

Peter hasn’t mentioned anything more about his previous living situation and the man is terrified to possibly trigger something if he brings it up. But  _ something _ has to be said in order for anyone to get anywhere.

For  _ this _ living situation to survive.

The billionaire has tried bringing up his own less-than-stellar past in an attempt to get his son to open up: his parents, being kidnapped, the arc reactor, the “civil war” that broke up the Avengers. 

Again, absolutely nothing.

Instead, Peter would bring up happy memories, like with his parents or nicer foster families he’s stayed with throughout the years.

While yes, a person using positive memories to make themself feel better is a good tactic but refusing to talk about the bad only makes the bad build up into a monster much greater than anything read in a comic book.

Tony has learned this the hard way, of course.

So,  _ how does he help his kid? _

He can’t just be upfront about it, that’s a disaster waiting to happen.

Then should he just…wait?

Wait for what?

Wait for this kid to have a full-blown meltdown? 

_ How’s that for some top-notch parenting? _

Until he decides, Tony bites his tongue like he’s done almost every day since he took the tyke in. He lets himself smile and laugh on the good days.

Because when it’s a good day, it’s a  _ perfect _ day, a day he always has FRIDAY save to his “Memories” folder.

Sometimes those days are so natural that Tony forgets those are good days. The way he and the kid make jokes, bond over old TV shows, go on car rides, or they can simply spend hours at a time without saying a word because they’re so comfortable around each other.

But the bad days, no one has the energy to do anything. Even Peter doing his schoolwork almost takes the wind out of him.

At some point, Tony has to say something, he knows that.

Because this is exactly what the bad does:

It sucks the soul out of everyone in sight.

-

Another bad day.

It’s not a surprise, really, considering the gloomy weather and the nightmare that occurred the night before, this one resulting in making hasty use of the washing machine at one AM, that was one hell of an unexpected first.

Needless to say, both halves of the father-son duo are in bad moods.

Peter has been almost silent for most of this Saturday, no doubt still mortified from last night, and Tony is doing everything in his power to keep his crankiness at bay.

The two of them are in the den at the lake house which Tony has converted into a lab. He is mindlessly working out some kinks in his suit while his kid is standing at a nearby table figuring out a faulty joint in one of the arms.

Neither one has said a word in almost an hour.

And no, this is not the comfortable silence that they’re used to. Instead, this one is tense, awkward,  _ annoying, _ even.

_ We can’t keep going like this. _

_ Something’s gotta give. _

The more Tony thinks about it, the more fidgety he gets, his brain constantly going over the million different ways he could bring up such a sensitive topic.

After another ten minutes of silence goes by, he decides to give in and wing it.

_ Isn’t that what parents do anyway but never admit it? _

“Kid -”

“Please don’t take me back!”

The man flinches at the outburst, dropping his tools thus causing both of them to wince at the loud clangs.

“What?” Tony asks, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“I’m so,  _ so _ sorry,” Peter says, glancing up at his dad before quickly dropping his gaze, “Last night, that-that’s never happened before and -”

“Peter, relax,” the billionaire replies, forcing himself to smile, “Accidents happen. I’m not gonna send you back over  _ anything, _ especially something as minuscule as that -”

“Not just that,” the boy retorts, his cheeks reddening profusely, “It’s  _ everything, _ I keep waking you up and-and I can’t sleep -”

“Why is that?”

Peter looks up at his dad, face mimicking the other in confusion, “What?”

“Y’know, why haven’t you been sleeping?”

_ Okay, wasn’t expecting to be this upfront with it but I guess we’re doing this now. _

The mechanic continues, “You haven’t told me about the nightmares, you’ve been very vague about your time with Skip,” he ignores the flinch from his kid, logging that reaction into his memory, “And just last night, you wet the bed.” 

He locks eyes with the tyke, “I’m worried about you, kiddo, and I wanna help you, I really do.” The man walks over to his kid, leaning against the table next to him, “But I can’t do anything unless you  _ talk to me.” _

He starts to put a comforting hand on the teen’s shoulder but pulls back at the last second. Something tells him that engaging in physical contact is the last thing his kid needs.

And he prays to  _ whoever _ that this feeling is wrong.

Peter looks back at the red and gold arm on the table, Tony noticing the trembling in his fingers and hearing his breaths coming in shorter bursts, not unlike the anxiety attack from the very first night.

_ Oh, boy. _

“Why?” the boy asks, tone unexpectedly abrupt.

“Why what?”

“Why do you have to know?” Peter’s voice grows irate, “I already told you living with Skip sucked.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tony says, trying not to raise his voice as annoyance sets in, “But obviously, it’s getting to you -”

“How do  _ you _ know -?”

“Because I’ve been there!” Tony shouts, regretting it instantly. He takes it down a notch as he says, “Look, I know you’re embarrassed, I didn’t want to talk about what happened to me either -”

“You don’t know -”

_ “What I’m saying is: _ you  _ have _ to get your feelings out, if you don’t, you’re gonna combust. And with these charges against Skip, there’s gonna come a day when you  _ have _ to say something.”

An awkward silence follows, the atmosphere becoming so tense one can cut a knife through it. Peter walks across the room to another table, pointedly keeping his face from his father’s direction.

_ I did this wrong. _

_ I did this so wrong, didn’t I? _

“You don’t know,” Peter whispers, his hands gripping the edge of the worktable, “What you went through sucked, I get that and I’m sorry you had to go through that…but you don’t know this.”

“Then make me understand -”

“No -!” 

Tony raises his voice, “Why -?!”

“‘Cuz it’s stupid, that’s why!” Peter turns around, briefly looking at his mentor before locking his gaze on the ground. He crosses his still shaking arms in front of his chest, squeezing his middle as if he wants to shrink himself out of existence.

_ I relate, kid. _

_ I relate. _

“I was stupid,” the kid says, “I could’ve done, I  _ should’ve _ done something but I just-I just, I just  _ laid _ there.” He raises his voice as he turns back toward the table, anger etching into his tone, “I laid there and-and I did  _ nothing. _ I was so stupid, how could I have been so stupid and do  _ nothing _ like a fucking baby?”

“Kid,” his dad says softly, daring to take a step forward, “I don’t know what this is but I bet every penny I own that you were nowhere near stupid.”

Peter simply shakes his head. Before Tony can say anything more, a sudden sob echoes through the room, leaving the man shocked, confused, and - though he’ll never admit it - scared.

_ And now he’s crying. _

_ Okay. _

_ I fucked up. _

_ I fucked up a lot. _

_ So what the fuck do I do now? _


	9. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the moment, he thinks, Peter has to say something; they’re both backed into a corner at this point, it can’t be avoided anymore.
> 
> And Tony knows the outcome. As much as he refuses to believe it, he knows what it is, and it’s _killing_ him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I've been so nervous about this one 🙃 
> 
> *****Trigger warning: All the heavy tags and the archive warning are talked about here and I promise you it's not graphic. I tried to make this not completely dark but please, PLEASE be careful!!! 
> 
> That being said, I hope you guys like the chapter! This one kinda sets the scene for the rest of the story if that makes sense.

Tony doesn’t say anything as more sobs reflect from wall to wall, even the rain outside is becoming hard to hear.

He grabs a chair and wheels it to his kid, gently coaxing him onto it before sitting in one himself. Peter puts his head in his hands, turning his chair away from his dad but said man grabs it and spins it back toward him.

He then carefully pulls the teen’s hands off of his face, his heart wrenching at the tear-covered glasses.

“Allow me.” Tony takes his son’s glasses and uses the hem of his shirt to clean them, “This is what I mean when I said you’ll combust.” 

He puts the glasses back on the boy’s face, “Something’s obviously eating at you, Pete,” the man says, keeping a gentle tone, “I just wanna help you, it’s killing me that I can’t -”

“‘Cuz it’s stupid and embarrassing -”

“You’ve known me long enough, have you ever known me to judge?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Peter replies, “No, but-but I didn’t even do anything.”

“That’s okay. Not doing anything doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel. I couldn’t help being kidnapped just like you couldn’t help whatever you’re thinking.”

The teenager looks up at his dad, eyes searching for some kind of answer Tony wishes he could give, “I -” he looks down at his feet, “I, uh, just don’t like talking about it.”

“That’s what Skip is banking on,” Tony says, “When whatever happened happened, did he make you not tell anyone?”

Peter nods his head, rubbing his now fully healed bare arms in nervousness, “Not that I wanted to anyway,” he mutters.

Tony can’t help but think back to that first night, that and the ones afterward. The way Peter acted, how scared he was.

All those dark thoughts that the man can’t push aside no matter how hard he’s tried.

“But not saying anything is exactly what Skip wants,” Tony says, swallowing a nervous lump in his throat, “He doesn’t want you to release that skeleton from his closet.” 

The scientist gives the tyke an encouraging smile, “But  _ you, _ my young grasshopper,” he lightly shakes his son’s shoulder, “Have the power to both expose him and finally lift what’s got to be the heaviest weight off your shoulders.”

Tony sees the boy’s eyes glistening with unshed tears and his heart breaks at the sight. He just wants to surround him with bubble wrap where nothing bad will happen to him ever again.

This is the moment, he thinks, Peter has to say something; they’re both backed into a corner at this point, it can’t be avoided anymore.

And Tony knows the outcome. As much as he refuses to believe it, he knows what it is, and it’s _ killing  _ him.

God, if this is destroying  _ him, _ he can’t imagine how much it’s affected his kid. 

_ It’s got to be eating him alive. _

A sniffle snaps the genius out of his thoughts. He sees his kid curl his knees to his chest, his socked toes wiggling furiously over the edge of the chair. Tony notices the gap between them has gotten bigger as well.

“I-I, uh,” Peter starts, resting his forehead against his kneecaps, “I don’t, I don’t like talking about it ‘cuz, um, ‘cuz if I talk about it, that means it happened…and I wish it never happened.”

_ Again, I relate.  _

_ But most definitely not to this scale. _

“But even not saying anything,” the teen continues, his voice just above a whisper, “I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s like my-my brain hates me or something, I can’t stop thinking about it and it  _ sucks.” _

Tony’s hand reaches out to him but he knows his arm isn’t long enough. He wants to wheel over to him and give him the biggest Iron Man-sized hug he can muster but his feet stay rooted to the floor. Obviously, Peter is keeping his distance for a reason, the least his dad can do is respect that.

_ And kill Skip Westcott. _

_ I mean, it’d save time on the stupid court shit. _

“One night,” Peter starts, wrapping his arms around his legs in a tight grip, “Uh, I’ve only been living with S-Skip for a few months or something and um, he-he’s hit me a few times. He yelled at us a lot too.”

“‘Us’? You and the other foster kids, you mean?”

The teen nods his head, “Yeah, there were two of them, remember?” He pauses to sniffle, not waiting for the rhetorical question to be answered, “I mean, it was okay, I guess, I had school and uh, I had  _ you.” _

He looks up at his dad, wiping his eyes with his fingers before resting his chin on top of his knees. “You were a good distraction,” he says with a half-smile.

_ Wish I’d been more. _

“Anyway, um,” Peter continues, his gaze back at his still frantic toes, “So that night, uh, I was-I was asleep when I-I woke up with Skip’s hand over my mouth.” His voice grows shaky as he whispers, “He was laying next to me and I had no idea.”

_ Oh, no. _

_ Oh no, oh no, oh no. _

_ Nope, this isn’t real, this is a nightmare and I desperately want to wake up. _

But Tony knows, judging by the goosebumps along his arms, that this is much worse than anything his fucked-up brain could ever imagine.

It actually happened.

He has never wished to be wrong as much as right now, how much he wants to think that Skip was just attempting some sort of prank. The mechanic feels his left hand start to shake so he tightly grips his thigh to keep it steady.

He takes notice that the tyke hasn’t said anything more so with a deep breath, the billionaire works up the courage to ask, “What happened next, Pete?”

Tony chances a look at his son to see tears streaming down his cheeks, his hands not working fast enough to abate them. After almost a full minute to get his emotions under control, Peter answers the question.

“He said,” he pauses again to sniffle, “He said, ‘Not a word or it’s the other kids.’” 

The boy looks up at his dad but quickly looks back down, a sob escaping him as he continues, “You remember them, they were only like five or six years old or something, I couldn't -" he sobs once again, taking several seconds to get back under control, "I couldn't do that to them, whatever 'that' was."

He starts crying fully, sniffling while using the collar of his shirt to wipe his nose.

Tony wheels his chair a few inches closer, still keeping his distance but also letting his kid know that he's in his corner.

Another couple of minutes go by in silence sans the crying. He's about to repeat his question from earlier when Peter answers for him.

"That's when..." the teen squeezes his eyes shut, practically burying his head behind his thighs, "That's when he…that’s when he t-touched me."

_ There it is. _

Tony's eyes widen once he registers what was said. He was expecting it but he also wasn't, like when someone prepares themself for the worst but when the worst happens, they’re still devastated.

Both of the man’s hands are shaking now and he doesn’t bother to hide them. He takes deep breaths in an attempt to keep both his anxiety and anger at bay but the sound of his kid’s voice jerks his head up immediately, shocked that Peter is continuing his confession.

“He-He, uh,” Peter says, his head still behind his curled-up legs, “He stuck his-he stuck his hand in my boxers and -” he pauses to whimper, using his shirt to dry the continuous incoming of tears, “It lasted  _ forever.” _

_ “The whole night?” _ Tony asks. He swears he felt his heart physically stop. That sounds like absolute hell.

“Felt like it,” his protege says, “I-I-I don’t know how long it lasted but I didn’t sleep, not even after he left.”

_ Who would? _

“My sleeping kinda went to shit after that,” the kid continues, his voice more high pitched, “‘Cuz what if he came back in, y’know?”

“Did he?” the billionaire asks, bracing himself for the obvious answer that he’s dreading to hear.

Peter responds with a simple nod of his head, confirming his adopted father’s suspicions.

“How long?” Tony mutters. The last thing he wants is to ask more questions but he has to know, especially when they go to the police about this. 

Peter needs to tell the whole story.

“Uh,” the boy says, “Till my birthday.”

“Oh my God -”

“Nothing actually happened on my birthday,” Peter says quickly, looking up at his dad before putting his gaze back on his feet, “He just, he told me he had a-a  _ secret _ ‘birthday present’ for me.” He pauses to clear his throat, his cheeks reddening exponentially, “I yelled at him…I was-I was scared about what the present was, I didn’t want the ‘birthday present.’"

Everything suddenly clicks. From the flinching that happened early on, to how Peter became more comfortable around the older man after Tony came out as asexual, the “don’t touch me” during his anxiety attack on the first night.

It all makes sense in the worst way possible.

“When I showed up, he grabbed your wrist,” Tony says, wheeling another inch closer, “Was that why?”

Peter nods his head, “The other kids were so confused. Y’know S-Skip’s wife, Tiffany, she-she thought I was being a brat and-and  _ ungrateful _ for not wanting a present. ‘So many kids aren’t as lucky as you,’ she said…she obviously didn’t know. I-I still get scared thinking about what that ‘present’ was gonna be.”

_ It will be an actual miracle if either of us sleep tonight. _

To the older male’s surprise, his son gives him another half-smile, “But then you showed up and punched him in the face and everything turned out okay. I can’t thank you enough for that -”

“No need to thank me.” Tony smiles in response, “I wish I did it sooner…I wish I realized what was going on.”

He remembers the day when Peter’s behavior took a one-eighty turn, how he looked tired all the time, jumpy, on edge, as if the weight of the world is resting on a teenager’s shoulders.

Because it was.

“I was happy you didn’t know, to be honest,” Peter murmurs, “I just-I felt…gross and, uh, embarrassed ‘cuz I-I-I didn’t stop him -”

“You  _ couldn’t _ stop him -”

“But I just laid there -”

“Because you couldn’t do anything else.” Tony wheels closer to his kid, now within distance of physical contact but he keeps his hands to himself, “He didn’t give you a choice, Peter,” he concludes, “None of this is your fault, I don’t give a shit what he said. This is on  _ him, _ not you.”

The man then clears his throat, preparing himself for the next question that will no doubt be the most difficult one to ask.

“Did he, um,” he takes another deep breath, finding himself fidgeting with his fingers to keep his own self from combustion. “Did he do anything else?” he forces out.

The blush in his son’s cheeks grows even darker, if that’s even possible, “I’m a virgin if that’s what you’re asking,” Peter says in a rush, putting his head back behind his thighs, “And I knew I was ace before all this happened, by the way.”

“Good…that’s good.” Tony then says, sighing in utmost relief.

_ One small mercy. _

_ Just one. _

“Peter, can you look at me?”

It takes a few seconds but the teenager obliges, reluctantly locking eyes with his dad.

Said hero gives him a heartfelt smile, “I’m glad you told me. That was a very brave thing you did.”

Another light sob escapes the kid, his eyes glistening for another round of tears, “No, ‘m not -”

“Yes, you are, that was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Peter grunts while hastily rubbing his eyes, “You’re a  _ superhero _ -”

“So are you, in your own way. You now have the power to keep this sicko from hurting other kids. You now have the power to determine this guy’s future -”

“But I don’t wanna tell anyone!” The teen’s eyes widen in fear, “I didn’t even wanna tell  _ you, _ how can I tell other people about this? He’s gonna be facing child abuse charges anyway, can’t we just leave it at that?”

“We could, but I’d much rather get him for all of this.” The billionaire takes another deep breath, “But we’ll talk about that later, okay?” Tony starts to put a hand on his protege’s kneecap but draws back at the last second.

“Peter, can I, uh, give you a hug or something -?”

He’s barely finished the question before Peter answers in the form of a death grip around his dad’s torso. Since they’re both sitting in desk chairs, Tony notices how awkward this must feel so in one swoop, he sits the kid in his lap, wrapping his arms around him.

In seconds, the man’s shirt gets damp with tears.

“Let it all out, buddy,” Tony says, ruffling the other’s hair, “Just let it out.”

They sit in the lab for what feels like hours, sobs echoing through the room, coinciding with the pouring rain still going on outside.

Despite the no doubt heartbreaking situation, there is a sense of relief blossoming in the mechanic’s chest.

Because Peter just completed the first step in his healing process.

And Tony can’t be more proud of him. 


	10. Crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter just completed the first step in his healing process.
> 
> And Tony can’t be more proud of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In hindsight, I probably should've combined prompts 9 and 10 because all the crying happened in the last chapter buuuuut this is a follow-up to the last prompt so that totes counts, right? 😂
> 
> ***Trigger warning: nothing is explicit, just a general blanket warning that from here on out those heavy tags will be talked about on some scale. As always with me, nothing is graphic but please be careful!!! 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, it's a liiiiiiittle bit more light-hearted than the previous one 💜

They sit in that lab for what feels like hours, the sobs echoing through the room coinciding with the pouring rain still going on outside.

Despite the no doubt heartbreaking situation, there is a sense of relief blossoming in the mechanic’s chest.

Peter just completed the first step in his healing process.

And Tony can’t be more proud of him. 

Eventually, the crying turns to sniffles and the man can feel the weight of his son’s head slumping against his chest in fatigue, understandably exhausted.

Which is ironic considering he knows a nap will be the absolute last thing his kid wants right now.

Tony props his feet on the seat of the other chair, letting himself slouch as he gently ruffles the tyke’s hair. “What do you wanna do now?” he asks.

A loud yawn escapes the teenager, “Nothin’,” he drawls, grabbing the fabric of his father’s shirt into a loose fist.

“I don’t know,” the boy then says, “Whenever I think about…everything, I kinda feel like I’m not really here if that makes sense. Like right now, I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience or something.”

“That might be your body processing everything. Your brain could be trying to protect you too, it’s known to do that.”

“It’s not doing a very good job,” Peter mutters, “Mr. Stark, what happens now?”

“For now, let’s just take it easy, okay? It’s Saturday, it’s cold and rainy, I don’t see any reason to do anything productive.”

A snort escapes the boy, to his dad’s relief, “Sounds good to me.” He then says, “I really don’t wanna tell the police what happened.”

“Why?”

“‘Cuz it’s  _ embarrassing. _ And they’re gonna, they’re gonna like, look at me weird. They’re gonna feel sorry for me, like what you’re doing right now.”

Tony feels his own cheeks heat up in embarrassment, sporting a sheepish grin even though his kid can’t see it, “Sorry -”

“No, I know you can’t help it.” Peter looks up at his dad and rests his head on the other’s shoulder, a half-smile of his own spreading across his face, “It’s nice, but I don’t want a million people looking at me like that.”

“But look at it this way: you go to the police about this and Skip could get a much,  _ much _ longer sentence.”

“How, though? There’s no evidence, I can’t prove anything -”

“But you  _ can _ prove that he’s been hurting you. The police still have pictures of those burns and bruises, remember?”

The boy nods his head so said man continues, “Did he hurt the other kids, do you know?”

“I think he hit them too but not as much. I-I tried to take the brunt of it as much as I could.”

Tony feels his entire body stiffen,  _ “Kid _ -”

“It was either that or they could’ve literally  _ died,” _ Peter retorts, almost in a snap, “I couldn’t just sit there and not do anything.”

His mentor releases a deep, elongated sigh, “Can’t argue with that,” he admits, “I just hate that you got caught between a rock and a hard place, and neither location was exactly ideal.”

The other simply shrugs, curling more into his dad, “I’m glad you were there,” he mutters, “I’m glad you’re  _ here.” _

“I’m glad  _ you’re _ here.” Another smile escapes the older man, “Don’t let anyone ever tell you you’re not a superhero, understand me? The Avengers got nothing on you.”

Peter snorts in response, “You’re just saying that -”

“Nope, no I’m not. Ask anyone, they know I don’t bullshit.”

“Still, you’re just saying this to make me feel better.”

“Well…is it working?”

The teenager hesitates for a few moments before he replies, another half-smile forming, “Little bit.” Unexpectedly, he sighs in content, “You're right, I do feel a little better, which probably makes no sense with how much I’ve cried.”

“It makes perfect sense. Letting everything out like you just did, you’re not letting it eat away at you anymore. The longer you keep all this trapped, the worse you’ll feel over time, so from what I can see,” Tony taps his protege’s shoulder, grinning once he gets his attention, “You just made a very brave first step.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before.”

Tony unconsciously tightens his grip on his kid, keeping himself grounded while an influx of unwanted memories flood his brain, “I have,” he says lowly, “That’s why I wanted you to tell me so bad, I know firsthand what it’s like to keep something to yourself and feel it physically sucking the life outta you…I don’t wish that on anybody.”

_ Except Skip. _

_ He can go suffer for a thousand lifetimes. _

He feels the tyke wrap his arms around this middle and another smile escapes him at the sudden warmth, the fuzziness engulfing him from head to toe.

_ Very _ few people in Tony’s lifetime have ever made him feel loved to the point where his body feels like TV static.

And he never wants this feeling to go away.

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispers, snapping his hero out of his stupor, “So we’re both kinda messed up, huh?”

The older genius releases an uncontrollable cackle, “But in the best of ways, right?”

“There’s a  _ good _ way to be messed up?”

“There’s gotta be if I have any hope of staying sane.”

“Then I’m that too, I guess,” Peter says, chuckling along with him, “We’ll keep each other sane.”

“Deal. Why does that actually sound accomplishable?”

“‘Cuz it is -” the boy cuts himself off with a yawn. After a few more seconds of keeping his position, he sits up in his father’s lap, wiping the tiredness out of his eyes, “I’m gonna get a shower, maybe it’ll wake me up.”

_ He still doesn’t want to sleep. _

_ And if I’m being honest, me either. _

“Good luck,” the mechanic jokes, taking his feet off the other chair so the kid can get down easily, “I hope it works.”

As soon as he hears the shower going, Tony takes out his phone, tapping the number of the only other person he wants to talk to right now.

“Rhodey, got a sec? It’s about the kid.”


	11. PTSD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The only response heard are whimpers from the other side of the door. After a second round of knocking, Tony can’t take it anymore, “Peter, I’m coming in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!!! I hope you like this chapter!!! 💜💜💜
> 
> PTSD is never actually talked about but Peter does express signs of it.
> 
> ***As always, be mindful of the blanket warning for those heavy tags
> 
> Also, I have shortened this story chapter-wise because I'll be combining prompts in future updates.

“Tones, whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

“How do you even know what I’m thinking -”

“‘Cuz I can see it all over your face, dumbass.”

Tony and Rhodey are in the living room of the lake house, the armored sidekick slumped in an armchair while his friend is slowly pacing in between the TV and coffee table.

The second Tony told his friend about Peter - making sure to be as vague as possible - the colonel stopped by for support. There’s really nothing Rhodey can do other than offer words of encouragement and keep the other from imploding but Iron Man is grateful he’s here nonetheless.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t track that bastard down -”

“You’re no good to the kid in prison, Tony,” Rhodey says, “Killing Skip is too much of a merciful ending for him anyway.”

“Him not being here would make it merciful for all of  _ mankind _ -”

“Call me old-fashioned, but I want him to suffer here on earth  _ before _ he suffers in hell. He ain’t gonna get outta this that easy by dying -”

“Oh my God,” Tony slumps on the middle cushion of the couch, putting his head in his hands, “As beautiful as all that sounds, Peter doesn’t want to come forward with it. What am I gonna do? I mean I can’t blame him but I can’t just sit on this either.”

“But if he doesn’t want to come forward, no one can force him to.” Rhodey releases a hopeless sigh before continuing, “Tony, you gotta be realistic, man: there’s a chance none of this is gonna come to light -”

His friend cuts him off with a frustrated groan, “So, what do I do now? Just sit here and let that motherfucker live the rest of his days in  _ ‘wonderland’?” _

“You be there for your kid, that's what you do. Look, I don’t know much about kids but I know that no matter what happens, you  _ be there for your kid. _ Maybe Peter’s making a mistake by not coming forward but he’ll just have to figure that out in due time. For now, I say just keep doing what you’re doing, you don’t sound like you’re doing as bad of a job as you think you are.”

Tony snorts in disbelief, resting his head on the back cushion of the couch, “You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” he says, smirking at the memory of his son saying the exact same thing earlier.

“Maybe, but I’m not lying either.” 

“How can I be doing a good job when I don’t know what the fuck to do next -”

“Tones, I swear to God, you’re the biggest pessimist I’ve ever met. Look at the positives: you got the kid to talk. This year-long mystery that’s been eating at you is finally solved. Appreciate the fact that your son felt comfortable enough to talk to you. Aren’t you a  _ little _ happy about that?” 

A ghost of a smile breaks out across the genius’s face, “You trying to make me all mushy or something?”

“Trying to do something to liven this gloominess up a little bit, and I’m not talking about the weather. Where is Peter, anyway?”

“He just took a shower so he’s probably in his room, today took a lot out of him. I hope he’s sleeping but I bet my suit he’s not.”

“He’s gonna come around -”

“But when -”

_ “Someday. _ You know how this goes, at least to a certain extent: you gotta take it one day at a time.”

“We’re both too damn impatient for that.”

“For once, you admit it -”

“Shut up -” Tony starts with a laugh but his friend cuts him off.

“Now I  _ know _ the kid’s rubbing off on you.” Rhodey lets out a chuckle himself, “Now, can we talk about the fact that this is the first time in  _ weeks _ that you’ve invited me over -”

“Since when do you need to be  _ invited?” _ The billionaire playfully rolls his eyes, “This isn’t a potluck dinner, you even have a damn key -”

“God forbid I wanna feel  _ wanted _ around here -”

“A damsel, you’re acting like an actual  _ damsel _ right now -”

Their banter is then interrupted by Tony’s AI, “Boss, Peter Stark is in distress.”

“Oh no,” said man mutters, getting up off the couch and heading upstairs, “Nightmare? Did he actually take a nap?”

“Unfortunately not, sir,” FRIDAY replies. 

That only worries him further. He takes a second before knocking on his son’s bedroom door, his mind going in too many directions to figure out what's wrong.

The only response heard are whimpers from the other side of the door. After a second round of knocking, Tony can’t take it anymore, “Peter, I’m coming in.”

Again, no verbal reply is heard so he slowly opens the door, his heart wrenching at what’s before him.

His son is curled up on his bed, arms wrapped around his legs in a death grip and his gaze locked on his open laptop in front of him. More whimpers escape the boy, along with deep, panicky breaths, more evidence that he’s in the beginnings of another panic attack.

Tony rushes to the bed, closing the laptop and unplugging its charger so neither of them will trip over the cord.

No longer being able to see whatever was on the screen snaps the boy out of his stupor. He looks up at his dad before putting his gaze on his feet, scooting away from the older man to the point where he’s on the complete opposite end of the bed.

_ At least he’s not falling off the bed this time. _

Tony gives him soft shushing sounds as he sits on the edge of the bed, pushing the laptop out of his way. “You’re okay,” he says softly, “He’s not here.”

“But I can see him,” Peter whines, “I can’t get him out of my head.”

“Just give it a couple more minutes, it’s gonna pass, I promise.”

The next few minutes are spent in silence, not unlike the two of them in the lab earlier. The mechanic takes a chance and sits down fully at the foot of the bed, making sure he’s on the complete opposite side of his kid.

Peter continues taking more deep breaths, his hero helping him keep to a healthy rhythm. The boy’s hand shyly reaches out for his dad and Tony can’t control the smile that spreads across his face as he takes it, scooting closer to his son so he can grab ahold comfortably.

Another minute goes by before the teenager finally calms down, slumping against the headboard as fatigue takes over once again, still not letting go of his father’s hand.

"Am I gonna have this problem all the time?" he says, voice tired, helpless, annoyed mostly.

"Wish I knew the answer, kiddo." Tony takes one of the pillows and offers it to his kid, said genius accepting it and propping it against the headboard.

"What happened?" the billionaire asks, "See something online that didn't agree with you?"

Peter releases a humorless laugh,  _ "Oh yeah," _ he points at his laptop that's still on his bed, "See for yourself."

_ I'm scared. _

Tony lets go of their grip and places the laptop over his crossed legs, reluctantly opening it and studying what's before him. Once everything registers, a strike of rage filters through him.

"You're still friends with Skip on Facebook?"

"No, I blocked him but I forgot to block Tiffany, she never uses her account." The boy then mutters, "He makes me sick."

The computer screen shows a few pictures of Skip and his wife, both in front of an overlook with a gorgeous view of a mountain range where one can almost see the leaves changing to reds and oranges before their eyes.

Tony sees red, and this color has nothing to do with the change of season.

This asshole is being sent to court for child abuse and he's out here having a fucking vacation.

“What the fuck -” he starts but an outburst from his kid cuts him off.

_ “How?” _ Peter says, anger etched in his tone, “How in the-how did he - is he really this heartless?” 

He then gets off the bed, pacing around his room like father did downstairs. The boy’s face is turning beet red, his fingers shaking as he wrings them through his frizzy hair, “After everything he’s done, he’s just,” his voice lowers exponentially, “Living his life.”

His dad just looks on, having no idea what to do or say so he stays on the bed for silent support. He exits out of the internet browser and closes the laptop, gently tossing it to the side to focus on his protege.

Peter continues, gripping so hard on the back of his desk chair that his knuckles turn pale, “Does he not care?” he whispers, “Does he even remember? ‘Cuz I do, that’s the worst part of all this, I remember  _ everything. _ I-I still feel the burns sometimes or-or-or I feel…him, and I feel like the most disgusting person alive.”

He turns to his dad, giving him a pleading look that’s begging Tony to fix this, to tell him what to do.

_ I wish I had the answers, kid. _

_ You have no idea. _

“It’s not fair,” the teen goes on, shaking the chair so much that it makes a clunky sound against the desk. Seemingly satisfied with the noise, Peter lets go of it, continuing to pace around his bedroom, “I get bad dreams, I can’t sleep, the scars from those fucking cigarettes don't go away and-and, and it’s all because of  _ him. _ And here he is, living the ‘perfect’ life with his ‘perfect’ wife on a ‘perfect’ fucking vacation -”

“I know, bud, I know. It’s sick to see that shit, to see him think that he’s getting away with it scot-free.”

The tyke continues his long-overdue vent while his hero bends his ear. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony sees his best friend leaning against the open doorway, another way of showing support. 

With every second that passes, the urge to track Skip down and push him off the overlook becomes almost unbearable. The only thing keeping the mechanic grounded is the bombshell his son just dropped.

“What?” the billionaire asks, eyes widening in shock. He takes a glance at Rhodey to see him with a similar expression.

_ Did I just hear what I think I just heard? _

“I said,” Peter repeats, “I wanna do it.”

_ Oh shit, yeah, that is definitely what I just heard. _

_ Holy shit. _

“Wanna do what?” Tony asks. He knows damn well what his son meant but he wants him to say it.

The more he says it, the stronger he’ll be.

“Peter,” he says slowly, fearing that the boy will back out if he talks too fast, “What do you want to do?”

Said teen clears his throat, growing unexpectedly shy despite the determination in his tone, “I want S-Skip to go to jail…I don’t wanna see him happy ever again.”


	12. Emotional Support Pet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The father-son duo spends what feels like hours in that animal shelter. Peter has pet every single dog there when they’re led to a room dedicated to cats.
> 
> No, not cats.
> 
> _Kittens._
> 
> Lots and lots of kittens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!!! The pet isn't an official ESA but it's a pet and it's cute and I hope you enjoy ☺️💜
> 
> ***As always, heed my tags

Tony thought he would be fine when Peter gave his statement to the police.

After all, he heard everything once already, hearing it again won’t be so bad, right?

_Wrong._

_Oh so very wrong._

Hearing his son recount all that Skip did - in a _lot_ more detail this time - has the man wanting to punch something, whether it be in the form of boxing gloves at a gym or denting car parts at a junkyard, he has to do _something_ to get his anger out before he does it illegally.

Such as taking out a forty-year-old foster parent for good.

_Nope, nope, nope, don’t go there._

_Like Rhodey said, you’re no good to the kid in prison._

That phrase is continuously going through his head as he and the kid walk out of the police station. The older man wraps an arm around the other’s shoulders as a way to both keep himself sane and hopefully give the tyke a sense of security.

Judging by the way he leans into his dad’s grip, Tony knows he made the right move.

Both father and son sigh in relief when they finally get in the car, the teenager curling his knees to his chest after putting on his seatbelt.

_He’s been doing that knee thing a lot._

_It’s like he wants to shrink himself into nothingness._

Tony turns to his kid and gently grabs his shoulder, giving it a reassuring shake, “You did great today, kiddo” he says, _“Fantastic,_ actually.”

He feels the boy shrug under his grip, his head locked behind his knees in what the man knows is an attempt to hide his embarrassment.

And his red-rimmed eyes.

“How?” Peter drones, “I cried like a freakin’ baby again, that’s all I do anymore -”

“Hey, it’s good to cry, I’ve heard, you’re letting yourself have emotions. I think it’s gonna get easier after this, though.”

“Really?”

“Really. It may seem hard to believe but it gets easier the more you talk about it. You’re not gonna cry every time, I promise.”

“I hope so, it’s fucking exhausting.” Peter lifts his head and rubs his eyes under his glasses, looking like an attempt to wipe away the redness, “Thanks for being there,” he says, “I mean, I know you had to be there ‘cuz I’m a minor and stuff but still -”

“I’m happy to do it.” Tony then says softly, giving the tyke’s shoulder another shake, “I’m proud of you, you know that?”

The flush in the kid’s cheeks slowly darken, _“Mr. Staaaark -”_

“I’m just telling the truth.” The billionaire then starts ruffling his son’s hair at the nape of his neck, “Skip should be scared -”

Peter cuts him off with a snort, “Yeah right -”

“Yeah, _right._ He’s gonna find out very quickly that he messed with the wrong kid.”

“Maybe.” The teenager sighs in defeat, “Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah?”

“Um,” the child whispers, “What if I can’t do this?”

“That’s okay.”

“Wait, what?” Peter turns to his dad, giving him a confusing look, “Really?”

“Really.” Tony gently moves a few strands of hair away from his son’s eyes, “All of this is up to you, you can say ‘no’ and back out any time. I know this is a lot for you, everyone will understand.”

“That easy?”

“That easy. The ball’s in your court, underoos, you can do whatever you want and I’ll be right there with whatever decision you make.”

_So please make the right one._

Peter turns toward the windshield, mindlessly looking at the car parked in front of them while deep in thought, “What would happen then? Would Sk…” he takes a deep breath before he forces out the name, _“Skip_ still go to jail?”

“There’s a good chance he still can. Like you said before, they’re gonna get him for child abuse charges, we have evidence of that.”

“But,” Tony sees his son physically deflate, “He’d be in jail longer if I keep going with this, right?”

_We’re going in the right direction, Tony, don’t fuck this up._

“Yeah. If he pleads guilty, it’d be a lot longer. He’d be out of your life for years and years to come.”

Peter sighs despairingly and rests his forehead against his kneecaps, “So I gotta keep doing this…shit.”

An uncontrollable smile spreads across the billionaire’s face as he starts rubbing the other’s back, in between the shoulder blades, “I promise you’re not gonna regret this. I know it don’t seem like it now, but getting your story out there, exposing this sicko for who he really is, you’ll feel on top of the world.”

He concludes, “You’ll finally get a sense of closure.”

“I hope so,” the boy mumbles, “But what if I do all of this and he still doesn’t go to jail?”

“Well that, I don’t know, I’m gonna be honest, but we’re not gonna know until the day of the verdict. The most important thing you’re getting out of this is that you’re _trying.”_

“God, the look on his face if he wins -”

“Don’t focus on that, okay, focus on what you’re doing now. You’re doing everything right, don’t let your brain think otherwise.”

The teenager turns toward his father, head still resting on top of his knees, “Thanks,” he says, a half-smile barely forming but it’s enough to make the man almost coo, “You’re good at making me feel better.”

“Finally, I found my career path,” the hero jokes, “What d’you wanna do now?”

The child tightens his grip around his legs, “Take a shower. Please?”

“You got it.” With one last reassuring squeeze on the tyke’s shoulder, Tony puts the car in “drive” and takes them home. When they pull into the driveway, they see Rhodey sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch, phone in one hand and some Starbucks drink in the other.

After a short “Hello” from Peter, the teen unlocks the door and races inside. Tony stands on one of the steps and casually leans against the post, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Your nose is so red you could guide Santa’s sleigh,” he says, giving his friend a smirk, “Why aren’t you inside where there’s this cool thing called a _fireplace?”_

“Door was locked,” Rhodey replies with a shrug, “Since when have you known me to be rude?”

“You have a key -”

“You really expect me to just waltz into someone else’s place without them being home -”

 _“You have a key,”_ the genius snorts, “If I cared about that, I wouldn’t’ve given you one.”

“Eh, I could use the vitamin D anyway.”

“You’re more concerned about that than catching the flu -”

 _“I_ got my flu shot.” Rhodey smiles, the expression falling as fast as it came, “How’d it go?” he asks.

“Good, all things considered.” Tony shrugs, “I just hate that he’s gotta go through all of this, he doesn’t deserve it -”

“No one does. What happens now?”

The billionaire grunts in response, releasing a hopeless sigh, “They’ll call us.”

“That’s it?” The armored sidekick gives his friend an offended look, “What the fuck does that even mean -”

“Who the fuck knows. I’m assuming the next step is some sort of hearing or something but they’re keeping us in the dark about it -”

“Our justice system summed up in a sentence,” Rhodey interrupts, voice solemn, “How’s the kid?”

Again, Tony shrugs, “He’s okay for the most part, I think. I think a part of him wants to back out.”

“Can’t blame him. None of that is exactly a kid-free environment.”

“Yeah,” the mechanic hums in agreeance, sniffling as the cold air starts getting to him, “But he did great in giving his statement, answered all the questions, even when they got more, uh…difficult, he pushed through.”

“That’s good, that’s good.” The soldier then changes the subject, “So, whatcha got planned for tonight?”

“I don’t know, it’s gonna depend on how the kid’s feeling.”

Rhodey hums, seeming as if deep in thought, “A dog.”

“What?”

“A dog. You need a dog or something around here to lift the mood of this place. I walk in there and the depression seeps in -”

Tony cuts him off with a scoff, “We’re not _that_ bad -”

“But you need something in there that’s happy. Look, I know you’re going through a lot, especially Peter, and I’m not saying you gotta commit to an actual animal - Lord knows you can barely take care of yourself -”

_“Gee, thanks -”_

“But taking him to a dog park, or a movie, maybe even a damn circus if there’s one in town, just doing _something_ might do both of you some good.”

“And you really think bringing a pet in our mixed-up lives will do just that?”

“I mean just go look at them. The thought of you actually taking care of an animal makes me kinda nervous.”

Tony’s eyebrows raise to his hairline, “You don’t think I can do it -”

“I _know_ you can’t do it -”

“Challenge accepted.”

Tony heads into his house for some warmth, his best friend hurriedly following behind, “Tones?” Rhodey says, “Tony, I was kidding, you do not need to actually be raising an animal -”

“Then why didya put this idea in my head? And y’know what, maybe you’re right, bringing in a pet who’s completely detached from our pasts might just do us some good.” The scientist’s eyes brighten as he gives him a heartfelt pat on his shoulder, “Thanks for that, sugarplum.”

Rhodey simply rolls his eyes, “What the hell did I just get you into?”

\- 

“I’m in love.”

“Kid, that’s the fifth dog you’ve said that to.”

“And I meant every one of them.”

It is now the following afternoon and Tony decided to take Peter to a local animal shelter.

He was humoring Rhodey before. The thought of actually raising an animal is honestly a bit terrifying so he figured just looking at the animals will put his kid in a brighter mood.

And the plan seems to be working, seeing as the boy has squealed at _everything_ with four legs and a tail. 

“Oh my God,” Peter kneels down in front of a cage, sticking his finger through the grate and letting a beagle lick it in greeting, “You. Are the cutest thing. _Ever,”_ he says, his voice going up an octave, “What’s your name?”

He looks at the sheet that’s taped onto the cage, “‘Gordo’? Oh my God, that name is so cute.”

“Are you in _love_ again?” Tony jokes, looking on at his son while he’s petting a spaniel in an adjacent cage.

“Is this how non-ace people feel when they say they’re in love?” the teen asks, “‘Cuz I think I get it now.”

His hero chuckles in response, “Damned if I know.”

The father-son duo spends what feels like hours in that animal shelter. Peter has pet every single dog there when they’re led to a room dedicated to cats.

No, not cats.

_Kittens._

Lots and lots of kittens.

 _“Awww,_ I can’t handle the cuteness.” Peter immediately walks over to the cage nearest him, gawking at the three gray kittens all asleep on top of each other.

From next to him, Tony hears the shelter volunteer tell them, “If you want to hold one, let me know and I’ll take one out for you -”

Said man cuts her off with a snicker, “Oh, you should _not_ have said that -”

“All of them,” his son says, moving on to a cage next to that first one, “I wanna hold all of them.” He sticks his finger in the cage again and starts petting an orange tabby kitten purring inside.

_Okay._

_That is cute._

_I surrender._

“If I let you do that, we’d be here all night,” Tony says while looking in a cage himself, his heart melting at a tuxedo kitten’s eyes meeting his own.

Again, they spend forever in that room, petting as many kittens as they can in their reach without taking all of them out of their cages. 

Peter then wanders over to the very last cage on the opposite side of the doorway, “Huh.”

“What?” his dad asks, not looking at him since he’s too busy petting a white kitten.

“The one in here isn’t a kitten.”

Tony turns to the tyke, looking into the cage in front of them: inside is one single tuxedo cat, bigger in size than the others and after looking at the sheet taped to the cage, they learn that this cat is five years old. The animal is laying down while also facing them, seemingly bored already.

The boy sticks his finger in between the grates and starts lightly petting the cat’s leg, the only body part that’s within his reach, “Aww, he’s so cute,” he looks back at the sheet, “Oh, _she's_ so cute, sorry about that.”

“Something tells me she’ll forgive you,” Tony jokes.

They look on as the cat starts purring, changing position to where Peter can pet her head, her paws stretching as she relaxes fully.

“Oh my God, this is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” Peter looks at the sheet again, “With the cutest name, oh my God, your name is _'Moonpie’?”_

“Huh, like the cookie.”

“I can see it.” The boy turns to his dad, “Can I take her out to pet her? Pleeeeease?”

Tony simply gives him a look of amusement, “Well, if you _insist.”_

The shelter volunteer takes Moonpie out of her cage and passes her to Peter, her claws clinging into his sweater and her purring gets louder as he’s able to pet her without any barriers.

“Oh my God, I’m in love,” Peter says, “I-I’m actually in love this time, this is the cutest thing in the world.”

“She’s the only full-grown cat in your care?” Tony says, turning to the volunteer.

“Yeah, we’ve had Moonpie off and on since she was a kitten, she was part of a litter that was rescued from the side of the road.”

Peter coos, “Aww -”

“I don’t know what it is, she’s been adopted by other families but none ever stuck so her home has been here. It’s a shame, really, she’s such a sweetheart.”

“She is,” the teenager mutters.

The volunteer leaves them be and Peter turns to his dad, giving him the biggest “puppy” eyes the man has ever seen.

_“No -”_

“But she needs a good home -”

“And we’re not it -”

“But _look at her.”_ Peter turns so Tony can look at the cat whose paws are now set on top of his shoulder, her eyes drooping as if she’s about to fall asleep right then and there.

“Nope, I know what you’re doing,” the mechanic says, “If you think for one second that you think we’re gonna adopt a pet -”

“But you adopted _me._ Honestly, she’s like the cat version of me, none of my homes ever stuck either until this one. Please, can we keep her? I-I’ll feed her, clean her litter box a-and play with her to give her exercise and just can we keep her?”

Tony looks back and forth from his son to this damn cat.

A pet is the last thing on this earth that they need.

They’re both hot enough messes that it’s all they can do to take care of each other, bringing an animal into this is just cause for a disaster.

“For the last time, Peter, the answer is _‘no.’”_

-

Ten minutes later, the two of them walk out of the shelter.

Complete with Moonpie Stark in Peter’s tow.


	13. Baking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he sees the tyke take out flour and chocolate chips, the billionaire relaxes fully.
> 
> _Aww, he's making cookies._
> 
> _Yes, I do like chocolate chip._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for some tooth-rotting fluff!!! I hope you enjoy!!! 💜💜💜

A sudden clang awakens Tony and he takes a moment to come back to reality. He finds himself in the living room sprawled on the couch, his eyes squinting at the afternoon sun shining in through the nearby windows.

_ Oh yeah, I took a nap. _

_ Damn, how long was I out? _

Another clang snaps him out of his stupor. The man sits up on the cushion and tries to figure out the noise but before he can, he hears low utterings of his kid from the adjoining kitchen.

“Shit, I really hope that didn’t wake him up.” After a brief pause, the boy continues, “Do you think he’s still asleep?”

Tony cracks a smile, not just at the whispers but at who his son is whispering to.

Having a cat in the house has been a surprisingly easy transition. The last few weeks haven’t changed much except the laundry room now contains a litter box and cat-sized food and water bowls.

The perks of adopting a cat who’s already matured, Tony supposes.

Although, he could do without the toys scattered all over the house. He’s almost twisted his ankle several times simply by tripping over a tiny stuffed mouse or one of those balls with a bell inside.

The mechanic glances at the scratching post on the other side of the adjacent armchair, already covered in black and white cat hair despite using a hand vacuum just a couple days before.

He turns his attention back to the kid, whispering yet again to Moonpie, “Do you think Mr. Stark likes chocolate chip or does he think that’s boring and basic?”

Without getting up off the couch, Tony leans forward to get a look at what’s going on in the kitchen.

Moonpie is standing on one of the barstools, her paws propped up on the edge of the counter, probably looking at whatever the fuck his kid is doing.

Peter has taken no notice of his dad watching as he takes out more kitchen utensils, the now familiar noises putting said man at ease.

When he sees the tyke take out flour and chocolate chips, the billionaire relaxes fully.

_ Aww, he's making cookies. _

_ Yes, I do like chocolate chip. _

But Tony doesn't say anything out loud. Obviously, Peter is wanting to surprise him and what kind of a dad would he be if he ruined it?

With a smile, the man lays back down, his head resting against a throw pillow and he decides to rest his eyes for just a little bit longer. He's way overdue on catching up on sleep anyway.

Despite the beeps of the oven and the whirs of the hand mixer, Tony somehow dozes off. What wakes him this time is an outburst from his son.

_ "Shit!" _

Tony sits back up instantly and watches Moonpie race upstairs to a hiding place, probably spooked by the yell.

That's when he notices why his kid shouted like he did.

_ Something’s burning - _

The hero quickly gets up, racing into the kitchen to see Peter pull out a sheet pan covered with cookies that are damn near pitch black around the edges.

“What the fuck?” Peter whines, defeatedly putting the pan on top of the stove, tossing the potholders to the side, “I followed the recipe.”

“The oven rack must’ve been too low,” Tony says, smiling when his kid whips around in surprise.

“Shit, I woke you up -”

“I was just resting my eyes.” The billionaire walks over to inspect the cookies. He starts to grab one only to find that he can’t, “Didya grease the pan?”

“No, the recipe on the back of the chocolate chip bag told me not to.”

“Next time, don’t listen, grease anyway. I don’t know why recipes tell us that, most of the time it doesn’t work.”

Peter steps away from his dad, “I’m sorry -”

“It’s okay, accidents happen.” Tony opens the oven door, seeing the culprit of the burnt cookies, “Yep, the rack’s too low.” He grabs the potholders and adjusts the rack to the center of the oven instead of too close to one of the heat sources.

“There,” he says, closing the oven door, “Now you’re all set to make the best damn cookies Nestle could dream of.” The mechanic turns to his son, noting the blush in his cheeks and the light fidgeting, showing that he’s clearly embarrassed.

“So, why cookies, what’s the occasion?” he asks, pretending not to notice the boy’s stature.

“Well,” Peter bites his lip in nervousness, scratching the back of his neck, “I kinda wanted to, uh, surprise you and stuff like, for the cat and-and everything but, uh,” the teenager releases a hopeless sigh, “I’m also really scared about the hearing tomorrow and I’ve read that people bake to relieve stress so…” he gestures to the cookies, “It obviously didn’t work.”

Tony gives him a sympathetic smile before looking back at the baking attempt, “We have another cookie sheet.”

“What -?”

“And we still have chocolate chips left, I don’t see why we can’t try this again.”

“We?”

“Yeah,” the man looks back at his son, smiling fully, “That is if you want me to help -”

“Yeah-yeah,” Peter says, a grin of his own spreading across his face, “Sorry, I just, um, I thought you’d think this would be stupid or something -”

“It’s never stupid when there’s cookies involved. Now that this shit happened, I’m craving one.”

“Me too,” the boy chuckles, “So, what do we do first?”

“You’re the baker, tell  _ me _ what to do.”

Tony sets the pan off to the side and preheats the oven according to package directions while his kid mixes together the dry ingredients with a whisk.

“What next, Pete?”

“Uh,” said teen looks back at the recipe on the chocolate chip bag, “Take out another stick of butter and microwave it until it’s soft, don’t melt it.”

“Yes,  _ chef.” _

_ “Shut up,” _ Peter snorts.

“What, you’re a chef, you’re making  _ homemade _ cookies -”

“But I still have to follow a recipe -”

“All chefs have to follow a recipe, even though it’s not written right in front of them.”

“But still, it’s just cookies -”

“Everyone’s gotta start somewhere -”

_ “Mr. Stark -” _

“You’ll be making wedding cakes before you know it.”

“Ew, making romance cakes, gross. Unless they’re ace-themed.”

Tony laughs as he brings the now softened butter over to the other bowl, plopping it in with the white and brown sugars, “What next,  _ chef?” _

Peter playfully rolls his eyes before he answers, “Crack eggs in here while I mix. And if I see any shells, I’m going all ‘Gordon Ramsay’ on you.”

_ “Now _ you’re sounding like a chef, I’m shaking -”

“You should be.”

The wet ingredients are soon mixed together, complete with Moonpie sneaking out of her hiding place and propping herself back onto the barstool, looking on in adorable curiosity.

Peter stirs in the chocolate chips - a significantly less amount this round since they’ve been snacking on them the whole time - and the father-son duo roll the dough into individual balls before placing them on a clean,  _ greased _ cookie sheet.

And now they wait.

The two Starks are sitting on barstools, with Moonpie in Peter’s lap. Tony reaches over and pets her in one of her favorite spots, behind her right ear, “So, did it help?” he asks.

“What do you mean?”

“The baking, did it help your stress level?”

“Kinda? Maybe it’s the act of eating the cookie that’ll help me.” Peter looks down at their cat, petting her back, “To be honest, she’s helped me a lot.”

“Really? Any particular reason why?”

“Didya know that cats help with anxiety?”

Tony’s eyes narrow in concentration, “Really?”

“Yeah, I looked it up. ‘Cuz when I’m feeling anxious about, uh,  _ him _ or-or anything, it’s like Moonpie senses it so I start petting her and her purring just, I don’t know, it just helps me, I guess.”

“So, purring is her superpower, huh?” The man’s smile goes wide as the cat’s purring increases tenfold, relaxing completely in the boy’s lap, “I can see that,” he concludes.

_ Who knew we needed the cat more than the cat needed us? _

"Thank you for getting her," Peter whispers.

"That's like the tenth time you thanked me -"

"Is there such thing as thanking someone too many times?"

The oven timer beeps before the mechanic can respond. He ruffles his son's hair as he's getting up, "I s'pose not."

He grabs the potholders and opens the oven, "She's growing on me too, that's another superpower."

"Heh, 'Supercat', I know what to dress her up as for next Halloween."

"God, help us." Tony takes the cookies out of the oven and places them on the counter in front of his kid, "I don't know about you,  _ 'Chef Stark', _ but I call these a success."

The cookies are a delicious golden brown with melted chocolate chips peeking out of the dough. There's no black around the edges and the older genius can use a spatula to pick them up with ease.

"Oh my God, they look so good," Peter says.

The two of them dig in, making themselves sick with the half dozen each of them has consumed.

"Now how do you feel?" Tony asks later on, both parties spread out on either side of the couch with Moonpie laying across their legs.

"Besides the stomachache, of course," the billionaire adds on.

"Perfect," Peter says with a lazy grin, looking the pure definition of content.

"Right now,” he concludes, “Right now I’m  _ perfectively _ perfect." 


	14. Road Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, kid?” Tony asks.
> 
> “Yeah?”
> 
> “How do you feel about getting away for a bit?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!!! This one starts out a little angsty but it ends fluffy and it leads into tomorrow's VERY fluffy prompt.
> 
> ****Trigger warning: First actual appearance of Skip Westcott, please be careful!! Also vomiting and overall anxiety issues in the beginning.

The case is going to trial.

Finally, after another recount of the abuse, getting Skip’s side of the story, and displaying what evidence they do have, there will be a trial sometime over the next month.

_ Gee, way to plan this right before the holidays. _

_ Peter won’t be dreaming of sugarplums dancing in his head. _

The father-son duo is in Tony’s car once again, in the parking lot outside the courthouse. 

This has become a bit of a routine with them; every time they finish in court, they need a few minutes to relax in the car before Tony takes them home.

The genius turns to his son in the passenger seat. The kid’s cheeks are a bright red and his whole stature utterly exhausted, complete with his head slumped against the window.

Like the past hundred times he’s had to tell his story.

The billionaire doesn’t say anything. He simply lets his kid wind down while he people-watches out the windshield. He sees the prosecutor get in her car, fellow pedestrians leaving the courthouse for various reasons.

And a certain blonde with a face so recognizable that Tony might throw up on his steering wheel.

“Shit!” Peter cries, snapping his father out of his haze.

_ Fuck, he saw him too. _

“I don’t wanna -” the boy starts to hyperventilate, looking back and forth from his former foster parent to his feet, grunting in a way that suggests he might actually vomit on the floor mat. “I-I already saw him once, what the fuck’s happening to me -”

“Whoa, take it easy, he can’t see you -”

“But what if he does -” Peter cuts himself off with another grunt, covering his mouth while doing his best to duck below anyone’s line of sight.

Tony starts massaging the other’s back, praying that this gives him some semblance of safety while also keeping an eye on Skip. He can't help but smirk at the scar that's in almost a straight line down the side of that bastard's nose.

_ Good to know my gauntlet came into good use. _

The sicko is walking casually to his car - thankfully not near theirs - with an arm wrapped around his wife’s shoulders.

_ How the fuck is she still with him? _

_ She’s nowhere near innocent but he was just accused of molesting a child, how is she still with him? _

_ How does she still  _ like _ him? _

The mechanic continues comforting his kid but it’s not working. Peter is still grunting like he might throw up and there are now beads of sweat dripping from his hairline so his dad wastes no time in taking off the blazer. 

He’s tossing said jacket to the backseat when he locks eyes with Skip.

_ How can a man be accused of child abuse and molestation and  _ still _ leave the courthouse looking like a million bucks? _

_ And that's with the fucking scar. _

Tony can’t break their stare no matter how much he wants to. It’s like he’s in some sick, twisted trance with this guy, seemingly so friendly and charming but underneath those green eyes lies something much,  _ much _ more sinister.

Especially with the way Skip winked at him.

_ This motherfucker. _

_ Just fucking winked at me. _

The billionaire’s hand is tight around the door handle. One press of the unlock button and he could get out and pummel this pedophile to the ground.

Or Tony can save himself the energy and just blast him with his gauntlet.

_ Just one blast. _

_ I don’t even have to get out of the car. _

His hand is just hovering over the button to push down the window when an unexpected splatter echoes through the car, making Tony wince while finally breaking their gaze.

His son threw up in his car.

“‘M sorry!” Peter says, using his sleeve to wipe his mouth. He quickly takes off his shoes and curls his knees to his chest to avoid the sick, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I’m not even sick -” he quickly ducks back down at seeing his attacker out the windshield, turning to his dad instead of any windows.

“It’s okay, I’m not mad,” Tony says with a sigh, continuing to rub the other's back, “Better out than in.”

As he’s reassuring the tyke, he sees Skip opening the passenger side door for Tiffany before circling to the driver’s side, leaving less than a minute later thus making Iron Man sigh in utmost relief.

“Is he gone?” Peter asks, his voice raspy due to what just happened.

“Yeah, he’s gone. You have nothing to worry about.” The scientist takes a discreet glance at the passenger floor mat to see that it’s mostly bile which fortunately makes for easy cleanup.

But it’s also evidence that his kid hasn’t eaten much today.

_ Probably too anxious to eat anything. _

_ Been there. _

“How you feeling?” Tony asks, mentally pinning the eating conversation for later.

“Uh, honestly?” Peter looks back and forth between his father and out the windshield as if he’s worried his abuser will return, “Like I’m gonna throw up again.”

“At least you’re honest -”

“I’m so sorry -”

“It’s  _ okay,” _ Tony gives him a comforting smile, “He makes me sick too -”

“Can we go home? Please?” Peter gives the other Stark a pleading look, “I, I wanna take a shower…again.”

“Sure thing.” With a light ruffle of his hair, Tony puts the car in “drive” and takes them home, the trip damn near silent aside from the radio and the boy’s breaths, his dad’s loving rubs apparently not doing their job.

When they get home, Peter - not bothering to grab his shoes - hurries upstairs while his dad plops onto the couch, his mind going in a million different directions but a smile escapes him when Moonpie jumps in his lap. Her purring helps with the stress but doesn’t abate it by any means.

_ God, these next few weeks are gonna be hell. _

_ And why do I suddenly want a shower too? _

The man pulls out his phone to call Rhodey but decides against it and tosses the device aside. He needs a few minutes or  _ days _ to figure out what to do next.

_ Peter gives his testimony for the five hundredth fucking time, lawyers interrogate him, we gotta hear Skip’s spiel, probably even hear the other kids’ statements. _

_ Why isn’t it socially acceptable to kill pedophiles without any repercussions? Who can I see to put that into law, this shit’s exhausting. _

Tony has FRIDAY turn on the TV while he waits on his son. He’s petting the cat in her “sweet spot” behind her right ear when he takes notice of some insurance commercial with a scenic view of the mountains, the fall colors leaving a breathtaking sight.

The billionaire can’t help but think back to that Facebook post with the Westcotts on their vacation to the mountains. The last two people on this earth who deserve the freedom to travel made it in time for peak leaf-changing season.

_ Me and Pete should go on a vacation at this rate or we’ll never make it to that damn trial. _

Tony’s eyebrows rise to his hairline.

_ Huh. _

_ That’s not a bad idea. _

He immediately starts forming an itinerary in his head, using Moonpie’s purrs to keep his mind sharp. He knows the two of them won’t be in the mood for much sightseeing but just the thought of getting away from reality for a few days makes him almost giddy like a kid in a candy store.

He hopes Peter will feel the same way.

About ten minutes later, said teen walks downstairs and settles right next to his dad. Moonpie stretches one of her paws out towards him and Peter takes it, a small smile etching across his face as he pets her toe beans.

“Hey, kid?” Tony asks.

“Yeah?”

“How do you feel about getting away for a bit?”

-

“Oh my God, Mr. Stark, I’m so glad we’re doing this.”

“Me too, but did we really have to bring the cat along?”

“Well yeah, she’s family, she wants to get away too.”

After a couple days of planning, the three Starks are in Tony’s car with a now clean floor mat, on the interstate headed to Bear Mountain. It’s only a few hours away and since it’s Sunday morning, not many cars are out so they should be at the rented cabin by lunchtime.

Three hours, that’s doable, more than doable actually, that’s a fun length of time where neither one will be tired by the time they get to their destination.

If it weren’t for the damn cat.

Like most cats, Moonpie doesn’t like riding in cars so for the past hour since the trip started, she hasn’t stopped meowing.

The whole. Fucking. Time.

In addition to her crying, she’s been clawing at the grates on her crate door, stretching her paw out of any hole that she can fit. Peter has even had to reach to the backseat to readjust the cage since she knocked it on its side.

“I don’t get why she’s being like this,” Peter says, looking back at his cat who’s clawing at the door yet again, “She wasn’t like this when we brought her back from the shelter.”

Tony grunts, “Well yeah, ‘cuz you were holding her the whole time. She clung onto you like a tree.”

The teen’s eyes widen, “Wait, that’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“She wants to be held. Or maybe she just doesn’t like cages.” Peter stretches to the backseat once again, this time to open the crate.

“Pete, this is the definition of  _ not _ a good idea, you really wanna be chasing a cat around this car while I’m going eighty?” The billionaire taps his son’s back, “C’mon, get back up here -”

“Hang on, hang on, I’m coming.” 

Tony watches the boy from his rearview mirror, his eyes hurriedly glancing back and forth from him to the road. He sees his kid open the crate door and quickly grab Moonpie’s scruff before she can dart anywhere to hide. 

“Hey, it’s okay, Mooney, it’s okay,” the tyke says in a soothing voice.

“‘Mooney’?”

Peter doesn’t answer - probably too distracted by the cat - and carefully brings Moonpie to the front with them, putting her in his lap and keeping a firm grip on her so he can buckle his seatbelt.

The cat herself continues crying until the boy gets settled, her claws digging into his shirt as she looks around the car in what is no doubt blood-curdled fear.

“It’s okay,” Peter repeats, “It’s just us.”

Tony can’t help but smile as he takes another glimpse at his kid.

_ Okay, that’s cute, sue me. _

“If she pukes, you’re cleaning it up,” he says.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Peter brushes him off, settling completely into his seat and bringing his cat along with him.

_ Finally, _ she stops meowing. She crawls over the kid’s thighs and props her front paws up next to the passenger window, her head shaking back and forth at the passing cars and trees like she’s watching a tennis match.

“Just call me the ‘cat whisperer’,” Peter says, sporting a smug grin as he leans back in his chair.

“Oh, hush,” Tony smirks, “I still don’t get why she needs a collar and tag, she’s an  _ indoor _ cat.”

He takes a look at the cat’s current accessories that Peter got her before the trip: a light purple collar with a few clear rhinestones and a gray ID tag.

_ Seriously? A black-and-white cat wearing a purple collar and gray tag. _

_ He  _ so _ did that on purpose. _

“But what if she takes off or something while we’re on vacation?” Peter says, his tone not near as innocent as he’s trying to let on.

“Stop with the smart answers, you just wanted an excuse to make her ace, didn’t you?”

“I had to take advantage, it was right there.” Peter admits while stroking the pet’s back, her tail adorably flicking with each pass, “She’s an ace icon now.”

“Oh, now you’re forcing the ‘ace agenda’ on her -”

“Not  _ forcing it, _ just…embracing it. She’s proud of her aceness -”

Tony cuts him off with a snicker, “You’ve said the exact same thing about your damn  _ plushie _ -”

“‘Cuz it’s true. I still need to get Ace a purple surfboard, it’s on his wishlist.”

The older Stark laughs fully, “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation, if I ever see a six-inch purple surfboard, it’s his.”

“That’s all he wants,” Peter smiles, “If I’m being honest, Moonpie being ace really isn’t that far-fetched.” He looks back at the cat in question, the animal now resting right next to the passenger window, still gazing on the scenery while her head moves side to side.

“Oh really, how so?”

“Well, she was already fixed when we got her and since she’s our only cat, she’s not gonna be mating with anybody  _ soooo, _ she’s ace, change my mind.”

“Yes,  _ sir,” _ the mechanic snorts while he ruffles his son’s hair, “All that being said, we didn’t have to bring her, Rhodey would’ve watched her just fine -”

“But then she wouldn’t be a part of the ‘Stark Family Vacation’ -”

“Oh, there’s a  _ title _ to our book now?”

“Yup,” Peter says sarcastically, “It’ll be a bestseller, I can feel it.”

_ If you wrote it, I have no doubt. _

Tony takes another look at his kid, the teenager too focused on Moonpie to notice.

Despite everything that’s happened, he’s still smiling.

Maybe the cat is the reason why.

_ And that’s okay. _

_ He’s smiling, and that’s what matters. _


	15. Campfire and (Platonic) Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This last day of relaxation is bittersweet for the father-son duo. The majority of their day was spent walking along a nearby trail that leads them to a waterfall, with the rest of their afternoon in front of the fireplace and a guarantee that the cat is laying on one of their laps.
> 
> So when it turns dark, Tony wants to make their last night special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!!! Here's the follow-up to the road trip! I hope you enjoy!!!! 💜
> 
> A big thank you to my friend, [joyful_soul_collector](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joyful_soul_collector/pseuds/joyful_soul_collector) for beta-reading this chapter for me!! 
> 
> I wanna preface this by saying that I'm not from New York but I know Bear Mountain so I'm using that 😂

The past week has been so freeing that neither Stark wants to leave tomorrow.

The cabin they're staying in is a quaint one off of a gravel road, just the right size for a father, son, and cat, complete with a small kitchen and back deck, thus giving them a view of the fall foliage.

But the best part of this cabin has got to be the covered front porch. Four wooden rocking chairs sit with a gorgeous view of Bear Mountain. Every morning Peter can be found doing his schoolwork in one of those chairs with a cup of hot cocoa on the table next to him. Sometimes his dad would be in his own chair with coffee and Moonpie staring at them from inside the cabin.

Yes, with it being November now, most mornings are cold but seeing the sunrise behind that mountain makes the runny nose all the more worth it.

This last day of relaxation is bittersweet for the father-son duo. The majority of their day was spent walking along a nearby trail that leads them to a waterfall, with the rest of their afternoon in front of the fireplace and a guarantee that the cat is laying on one of their laps.

So when it turns dark, Tony wants to make their last night special.

Well, it's not _that_ special, since they've done this almost every night this week but the fact that this will be the last time they'll be doing this for a while, it's _technically_ special, right?

Thousands upon thousands of stars sprinkle the night sky, the moon as white as the fur on the underside of Moonpie. 

And a campfire roaring in the front yard.

The two Starks are sitting on a bench in front of the flames, each holding a stake with a hot dog on the end and hovering it over the fire. Well, in Peter’s case, the hot dog is _catching_ on fire.

“Kid, you don’t _cook_ the hot dog,” Tony says while chuckling, “All you gotta do is heat it.”

Peter blows out the mini-flame before he replies, “But I like burnt hot dogs, the skin gets all crunchy.” He holds out said item to his dad, “Wanna try it -”

“I’ll pass,” the older genius playfully rolls his eyes, “You just burnt all the flavor out of it -”

 _“No,_ I made the flavor _better.”_ The boy grabs a bun from the other side of the bench, hovering it over the fire for a few seconds to take off the chill.

“You’re not gonna burn the bun too, might as well -”

“Don’t tempt me,” Peter snorts, “I don’t wanna burn my arm off, that’s the only reason why I’m not considering it.”

“Taking the easy way,” Tony quips, “I see how it is -”

“Shut up.” The boy lightly elbows his dad, the chuckling making it obvious that it’s all in jest, “Hey, I don’t make fun of you for putting anchovies on pizza,” he says.

“You’re one to talk with your pineapple obsession -”

“Pineapple is _so_ much better than having tiny, salty fish looking at you while you’re eating them.”

“The salt balances with the onions -”

“Well, the sweetness of the pineapple _balances_ with the pepperoni,” Peter smirks, “Now let me eat my burnt hot dog of gloriousness in peace.”

Tony releases an uncontrollable snort, “Yes, _your Majesty_ -”

“Glad we finally agree on something.”

The two of them get into a giggle fit while Peter dresses up his hot dog with ketchup and mustard, Tony soon following suit with his much less burnt dinner.

“So,” Tony starts, growing unexpectedly shy, “Didya have fun this week?”

His son raises an eyebrow mid-chew, giving him a look of disbelief. “No, I had a _horrible_ time,” he says, mumbling since his mouth is full. He then fondly rolls his eyes, nudging the older man, “‘Course I did, didya really think I didn’t -”

“No, I just,” Tony swallows his own bite before he finishes his thought, “We didn’t do much, I was afraid you got bored.”

“Don’t listen to what your anxiety’s telling you.” Peter nudges him once again while he’s finishing off his hot dog, “I promise, I had fun. To be honest, I’m glad we didn’t do much.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I didn’t, uh, well I’ve slept the most I’ve had in awhile -”

“You’re actually starting to sleep like a teenager -”

“‘Bout damn time,” Peter smiles, the expression falling as fast as it came, “I really didn’t know how tired I was up until this trip so even if we did do a lot, I don’t know if I would’ve been up for it.”

The tyke grabs another hot dog and sticks it on the end of his stake, submerging it in the fire like with the previous one, “And besides, it’s not like we didn’t do _anything,_ we went to a couple waterfalls, those were fun. We saw some mountain overlooks, those were really pretty -”

“We got some old couple to take a blurry picture of us -”

“That just adds more to the adventure,” Peter laughs, “And we went to this one Italian place that had like the best alfredo ever, it’s worth coming back here just to go there again -”

“Or you can recreate it, _‘Chef Stark’_ -”

“Oh my God, you’re still on that -”

“Hey, those cookies were delicious -”

“And that’s the _only_ thing I can make.”

“Well, do you want to make more?”

“I - well?” Peter’s face scrunches in thought, “I mean, I saw a good looking brownie recipe online -”

“Good Lord, you’re gonna make me fat -”

“You’re getting old, Mr. Stark, you need more meat on your bones anyway -”

“I resent that -”

 _“Anyway,_ so, uh, I’ll-I’ll most likely be stress-baking a lot before the trial so uh,” Peter takes his hot dog out of the fire and blows out the lingering flame, “If that’s okay.”

“‘Course it’s okay.” Tony lovingly rubs his son’s back as the boy digs into his second hot dog, “You should learn to make treats for Moonpie, or ‘Mooney’ as you’ve started calling her.”

“I’m trying out some nicknames,” the tyke says while mid-chew, “And how the hell can I make cat treats?”

“Only one way to find out.” Tony grabs another hot dog and puts it on his own stake before hovering it just over the flames, “Google is your best friend.”

The boy snorts in his reply, “Now you got me curious.”

“And then you can work your way up to alfredo.”

“Maybe one day,” the teen takes another bite of his hot dog, swallowing it before he says, almost in a whisper, “I don’t wanna leave.”

“You really like it here, huh?”

“I don’t know, it might just be because we’re away from _him_ and the _trial_ and _everything._ I guess I just don’t wanna go back to that.” Peter finishes the last of his hot dog and leans his head against his father’s bicep, the added cushion of his thick jacket making an almost decent substitute for a pillow.

“I _really_ don’t wanna go back to that,” he concludes.

“I know, buddy.” Tony wraps that respective arm around his kid’s shoulders, pulling him close while keeping an eye on the second helping of his dinner, “But think about this: after the trial, everything will be over -”

“Not if Sk-not if Skip wins -”

“Even if he does win, don’t think I’m not gonna have a private investigator on his ass.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, really. Whatever he does, even if he so much as jaywalks or goes five miles over the speed limit, I’ll know, I’ll know _everything._ And don’t forget, restraining orders are a thing.”

Peter nestles more his dad, “I got Iron Man, I don’t need a restraining order.” 

“You flatter me.” Tony gives his son a light kiss on top of his head, his whole body freezing when he registers what he just did.

_What the fuck?_

_Why the fuck did I do that?_

_I’m just the fucking worst, aren’t I?_

Tony has never once shown affection to his son like that. Sure, it’s a harmless and sweet gesture but this is Peter, Peter who has been through more in fifteen years than most adults have been through in their lifetime.

And now he probably just set back any progress they worked so hard to make.

The billionaire then feels his kid wrap his arms around him in a hug, snuggling even more into his side despite there being no room left between them.

“Y’know what would make tonight even better?”

_Wait, did he even notice?_

“What?” Tony asks hesitantly.

“S’mores.”

“S’mores?”

 _“S’mores._ We’re literally in front of a campfire and there’s no s’mores, it’s a crime, I tell you.”

_Holy fuck, he didn’t notice._

Tony takes a glance at the fire to see his hot dog almost as black as the kid’s were.

_That damn kiss cost me a hot dog._

“Oh, _s’mores,”_ the mechanic says, purposely sounding overdramatic to show he’s joking. He’s casually dressing up his hot dog - drowning it in ketchup to mask the char - when he says, “Is that the snack with the graham crackers and the marshmallows - “

“And chocolate, can’t forget the chocolate.”

“So you mean all that stuff I got at the store today…”

Peter lifts his head and looks at his hero in confusion, “Wait, what -?”

“In secret, while you were at that bookstore a couple doors down?” Tony smirks as bites into his hot dog, inwardly cringing at the burnt meat that’s covering his taste buds.

_How does the kid like this?_

When everything clicks, the tyke’s eyes widen in utter excitement and in one swift move, he gets off the bench and races inside.

“You don’t know where I hid them,” Tony shouts, finishing his dinner as fast as he can so he can chase it down with something edible.

“I’ll find them,” Peter responds but in just seconds, the scientist hears footsteps coming closer to him.

“Well, you must’ve found them pretty damn fast -” Tony cuts himself off, his stature still and in such utter shock that might be having a heart attack.

His son just kissed him on the top of his head.

“Thanks, Mr. Stark.” Footsteps are then becoming distant, evidence that Peter is actually going inside this time.

Tony turns around, just in time for the front door to shut, and he sees his kid through one of the windows, giving Moonpie a loving rub on the sill before he heads into the kitchen.

_So._

_He did notice._

And if Iron Man has a smile glued to his face for the rest of the night and the trip home the next morning.

Well, can anyone blame him?


	16. Protective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Shit._
> 
> _Just what we need._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!! I wanna let you know that I don't know anything about law, so I hope everything sounds believable 😂
> 
> ***Trigger warning: there's another appearance of Skip, nothing about the abuse gets talked about but his presence leads to a panic attack from Peter, please be careful!!! 
> 
> Again, thank you so much, [joyful_soul_collector](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joyful_soul_collector/pseuds/joyful_soul_collector) for beta-reading this chapter for me!! I appreciate it so much, my dude!!! 💜
> 
> Also, I'm taking a few days off from posting prompts, I'm so sorry!! I have a big IRL work thing later this week and I know I won't be writing much due to my growing anxiety and I want to stay ahead on my prompts. I'll be back after the thing is over, I promise!!! 💜

Another day of the trial has finally come to an end.

Everyone has been on the witness stand: Peter, Skip, Tiffany, even the little boy and girl who were living with them as well.

Tomorrow, the police officer running the child abuse case will take the stand as an “expert witness”, along with providing corroborating evidence.

Unfortunately, there isn’t any for when the abuse went further than physical so the two Starks are holding out on a prayer that everything works in their favor.

Tony and Peter are sitting on a bench outside the doors to the courtroom, waiting for their attorney to walk out so they can ask questions about where to go from here. 

Well,  _ Tony _ is going to ask the questions. His son is so wound up that it will take effort to form words, his knee bouncing rapidly to the point where there’s a chance he might pull a muscle.

"How much longer?" Peter asks, twisting his fingers in nervousness, "I really wanna get back to the car." 

"I know, bud, I just want to ask her a coupla questions." Tony puts a comforting hand on his son's knee in an attempt to slow the bouncing, "You did great today."

"Don't feel great,” the teen says, his bobbing knee slowing ever so slightly, “I want Moonpie."

"She'll be excited to see you, I'm sure."

A half-smile escapes the boy but an annoyed groan takes its place, "I have to pee again." He hastily gets up and races to the bathroom located around the corner of the hallway.

_ Good Lord, is that the third time he's gone since we’ve been here? Fourth maybe? _

_ Anxious peeing, I relate. _

Peter then hurries back barely thirty seconds later, fidgeting in a way that shows he didn’t use the bathroom.

“What -” Tony starts but his son cuts him off.

“Can we just go?” the boy says in a rush, his lips damn near quivering as he hastily crosses his arms in front of him, “Please?” 

“Uh,” his dad stands up, giving him a confused look. He would rather ask the attorney in person of how things are going but a phone call will do its job fine, he supposes.

“Yeah, yeah we can go,” he says, “But it’s like a half-hour drive back, can you wait that long -?”

“Yeah-yeah-yeah, it’s just my stupid anxiety anyway, let’s just go -”

“Pete, what the hell is it?”

Footsteps are heard before Peter can answer. Seconds later, that third person walks around the corner and everything clicks.

“Petey, the bathroom was big enough for both of us,” Skip says, his smug grin making Tony’s blood run cold, “You always were a bathroom hog -”

“Shut up,” Peter says, his tone so quiet that the command isn’t the least bit intimidating.

_ Shit. _

_ Just what we need. _

“Oh,  _ that’s _ scary,” Skip says, “Clearly, nothing’s changed -”

_ “Can it,” _ Tony retorts. He takes a few steps forward to keep himself between Peter and his attacker, giving the other man a death glare.

“How’d you get that scar there,  _ Skippy?” _ he says, smirking at the laceration that streaks down Skip’s nose.

_ Wish I caused more damage. _

The sicko’s grin falls instantly, “Be lucky I’m not having you arrested for that -”

“You’re not ‘cuz even  _ you _ know what would’ve come out if you did.” The hero takes a few discreet, deep breaths, his hands enclosed into fists and his brain is reeling through the satisfying scenarios about giving that scar a friend.

But he can’t do anything, not in the damn courthouse. If he punches Skip now, things will look good for him while Iron Man might be looked at as an uncontrollable, incompetent parent.

And if Skip plays the victim - which Tony knows he will - there could be a chance he’ll plead innocent.

Putting the case aside, the kid comes first no matter what. How would the kid even react if a scene were to break out?

_ The kid comes first. _

_ Always the kid. _

“Look,” Tony starts, “He’s not bothering you. Just leave him alone, let him be.”

Skip holds up his hands in mock surrender, “I’m not bothering  _ anyone, _ Stark. Little ‘Petey Pie’ was in there barely two seconds -”

“Stop calling me that,” Peter says, anger etched in his tone. He takes a few steps closer to his dad, staying behind him, “You-You, you know I always hated that name -”

The older Stark cuts him off with a light shushing sound, turning towards him while keeping watch over Skip out of the corner of his eye, “Let’s just go, alright? It’s alright.”

“Yeah, Einstein,” Skip says, “Go to  _ ‘Daddy’ _ -”

“Don’t listen to him,” Tony says firmly, keeping his gaze on his kid, “He's just doing this to get in our heads, don’t listen to him.”

The boy nods his head, his breaths coming in much deeper which gives Tony the assumption that he’s trying his damndest to keep his anxiety at bay, to not give his abuser the satisfaction of seeing him fall apart.

The billionaire guides his son around the corner and out the double doors, making sure to keep himself between him and Skip. He hears said man open his big mouth but he doesn't bother engaging, knowing that giving in and blowing up at this guy will do more harm than good.

But the thought of doing so is such a beautiful image.

In minutes, the father-son duo is back in his car, Tony taking deep breaths to calm down. Once he does, his head snaps to the passenger seat, hearing his kid’s breaths doing the complete opposite by becoming more agitated.

“Peter, you’re okay, he’s gone -”

“I can’t!” the boy cries, frantically running his fingers through his hair, “I can’t-I can’t -” he cuts himself off by taking more shortened breaths, coughing as he struggles to get under control.

_ Another panic attack. _

_ Shit, I was afraid of this. _

_ Westcott, you’re lucky that we were in a courthouse and not behind a bar. _

_ Iron Man would’ve fucked. You. Up. _


	17. Flashbacks and Panic Attacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Another panic attack._
> 
> _Shit, I was afraid of this._
> 
> _Westcott, you’re lucky that we were in a courthouse and not behind a bar._
> 
> _Iron Man would’ve fucked. You. Up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaack!!! I hope you guys are having a good weekend! 💜
> 
> I'm planning on posting every day until the end of my story but with Thanksgiving coming soon that might not happen so please bear with me.
> 
> Thank you guys so so much for your wonderful feedback, your comments make my day (I know I'm slacking on responding to them but I haven't forgotten about you, I promise 💜💜💜). I hope you guys enjoy this update!!
> 
> A special thank you to my friend, [joyful_soul_collector](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joyful_soul_collector/pseuds/joyful_soul_collector) for beta-reading this chapter for me!! Thank you as always, my dude!!! 💜
> 
> ***Trigger warning: Like the title says, there is a panic attack in this and non-graphic references to the abuse, please be careful!!

“Peter, you’re okay, he’s gone -”

“I can’t!” the boy shouts, frantically running his fingers through his hair, “I can’t-I can’t -” he cuts himself off by taking more shortened breaths, coughing as he tries to get under control.

_ Another panic attack. _

_ Shit, I was afraid of this. _

_ Westcott, you’re lucky that we were in a courthouse and not behind a bar. _

_ Iron Man would’ve fucked. You. Up. _

Tony keeps shushing him as he takes off the boy’s blazer, fearing that the clothing will make him feel trapped. He then grabs his son’s hand and puts on his chest, taking deep, exaggerated breaths, “Hey, you feel that? C’mon, breath with me.”

Peter gives his dad a look of confusion before his eyes widen in realization. His grip on the other’s shirt tightens as he tries to follow suit.

The first several minutes are miserable, the poor kid just can’t get his breathing under control so the scientist lifts his chin, giving him an encouraging smile, “Just focus on me, okay? You’re doing great.”

It takes another few minutes but Peter soon follows, his breaths ever so slowly going back to normal. After a couple more minutes, the shortened breaths become few and far between, his lungs finally able to fill to capacity.

The younger Stark releases a tired huff before he rests his head against his dad’s chest. The motion is a tad awkward considering the center console between them but they ignore it.

Tony gives his son a light kiss on top of his head as he wraps his arms around him, “Good job, buddy, good job.”

Peter says, his voice muffled due to his father’s shirt, “I’m so glad that didn’t happen around Sk-Skip.”

“Me too.” At that, the mechanic discreetly searches around the parking lot, looking out for a certain blonde-haired, green-eyed detriment to society.

No such figure is to be found so he puts his focus back on the teenager, noticing how his head is now slumped completely against his chest, evidence of fatigue that has befallen. 

“You ready to go home?” he asks, ruffling his hair at the nape of the other’s neck.

The tyke nods his head, slowly lifting his head and settling back into his seat, his posture uncomfortably rigid.

“How you feeling?” Tony asks in concern.

“Uh,” Peter takes a quick glance at his lap, “Really surprised I didn’t piss myself,” he says with a sheepish chuckle, “I don’t think I can wait until we get home.”

“There’s a McDonald’s around the corner,” Tony replies, relaxing at the easy fix. He then puts the car in “reverse” and leaves the parking lot, turning at the first intersection they come to.

“I hated when he called me those names,” the teen whispers, his dad taken aback at the unexpected confession.

“Yeah,” the older man hums in agreeance, “It didn’t sound like they were made in jest.”

“They weren’t,” Peter shakes his head, putting his gaze on the passenger window, “They’re all stupid names, but uh,” he grabs the fabric of his slacks that sit atop his knees, looking like he has them in death grips, “The-The ‘Petey Pie’ one,” his voice grows shaky, “He always, um…he always called me that when he did, uh…that.”

“I see,” Tony mutters, trying not to pay attention to his rise in temperature, “Is that what led to your panic attack?”

The boy nods his head, “He said it and it’s like I’m there again, y’know?” He takes a quick look at his dad before staring out the windshield, “I feel gross again, I could…feel him again. And I know he only called me those names to make me feel even more like shit and what makes it worse is that it  _ worked _ -”

“One day it won’t.” The billionaire grabs his son’s hand, taking it out of his grip on his knee, “One day you’re gonna laugh at him, and it’s gonna let him know that his power over you is completely gone.” He smiles at feeling his son tighten their grip, not letting go as he stops at the intersection next to that McDonald’s.

“I hope so,” Peter says, “‘Cuz I’m really getting sick of going back there all the time.”

“I know, kiddo, I know it’s frustrating,” Tony starts softly rubbing his thumb over the back of his kid’s hand, “I hate to say it but this stuff takes time -”

“‘Time’ is fucking annoying -”

The older man can’t help but cackle, “Don’t I know it.”

Soon, Tony pulls into a parking space at McDonald’s, choosing a spot where he has a clear view of the front door.

_ That’s probably over-the-top helicopter parenting, isn’t it? _

_ Eh, whatever. _

Peter lets go of their grip before unbuckling his seatbelt, “Thank you,” he says, his cheeks slowly reddening, “I mean, not just for stopping so I can pee but -”

“I get it,” Tony smiles, “You never need to thank me for doing my job.”

The teenager opens his car door, giving his dad a heartfelt smile before getting out and walking into the restaurant. The second he’s out of sight, said man rests his forehead on the steering wheel, releasing the deepest, exhausted breath he can muster.

“The sooner Skippy goes to jail, the better.”


	18. Hot Cocoa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh my God,” said boy playfully retorts, briefly stroking his pet’s back, “Last time you complained about having _too many_ marshmallows -”
> 
> “Well, now I want more -”
> 
> “You’re impossible,” Peter chuckles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! How 'bout a fluffy chapter to balance out the hurt from the last one 😂💜

Thank God Rhodey is at the lake house when the Starks return from McDonald’s.

Once again, Peter heads upstairs to take a shower and Tony plops onto the couch, another bit to add to this “post-court” routine.

This time, his best friend sits next to him on the other end of the sofa, turning on the TV for background noise, “How’d it go?” he asks.

“The actual thing went fine.” Tony inwardly cringes at how tired he sounded. How is this taking a lot out of him when he’s not even a part of the trial?

He continues, “It’s seeing Skip afterward that put a damper on things.”

“He got within breathing distance of you guys? And he’s still  _ alive?” _

“Unfortunately.”

“I applaud your restraint,” Rhodey grunts.

“If we weren’t in a courthouse, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Just enough to give the kid a panic attack.”

The colonel releases a despairing sigh, “I can’t wait till he’s locked up -”

“You and me both.”

“You guys gonna celebrate afterwards?” Rhodey asks with a smile.

“Oh God, I haven’t even thought that far. For all we know, we might just celebrate with a fucking nap -”

“That’s one hell of a vacation -”

“In my defense, we did just have one -”

“Oh, you need another.”

Tony gives his friend a confused look, “What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“Your next vacation should just be you and the kid in a hotel room sleeping for two days straight.” The soldier then says, talking over his friend’s snorts, “He sleeps about as well as you do and that is  _ not _ a compliment.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Rhodey chuckles in response. He then stands up and walks into the kitchen, “You want a beer?”

“Please.”

While his friend is getting their drinks, Tony sees his son walking down the stairs, stopping midway when he catches sight of Rhodey.

“Everything okay, bud?” the older Stark asks in concern.

“Uh, yeah,” Peter whispers, carefully walking down the last few steps. 

Rhodey steps back into the kitchen with an open beer in each hand, giving the boy a casual smile, “Hey, kid.”

“Hi,” the young genius says, giving him an awkward wave. He then walks over to the couch and kneels to his dad’s eye-level, whispering in his ear, “Can I borrow one of your sweatshirts?”

It takes a second for the scientist to register what was asked and when it does, he’s more confused than before, “Uh -”

“All of mine are dirty,” the teen says, loud enough for Rhodey to hear this time. His eyes shift back and forth from his dad to the end table, “Please?”

Tony gives him a puzzled look, not because of the question but at the fact that Peter shouldn’t have any dirty sweatshirts or many dirty clothes at all since he just washed a load yesterday.

The mechanic then gives him a gentle smile.

_ He feels safer when he’s wearing  _ my _ clothes. _

“Kid,” he starts, keeping his voice low even though his friend can clearly hear them, “You don’t need to make up any excuses, my closet’s all yours.”

His heart wrenches at how much Peter relaxes, “Thanks Mr. Stark,” the tyke says, unleashing a smile himself, “Um, I’m gonna be upstairs for a while, uh, Moonpie’s with me.”

“You better be taking a nap while you’re up there.”

The child grunts, already making his way upstairs, “Not gonna hold my breath.” He awkwardly waves “bye” to Rhodey before he’s upstairs and out of sight.

Said man gives his friend one of the beers before settling back into his spot on the couch. The second they hear Peter’s bedroom door close, he asks, “Is he afraid of me?”

“No -”

“He sure acted like it -”

“You weren’t at the courthouse today, he’s still a bit shaken up.” Tony takes a swig of his beer, “He likes you, I know he can get a bit awkward but he does. The problem isn’t you, I promise.”

“Is that why he still calls you ‘Mr. Stark’?”

Tony’s eyes narrow in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s been a few months now. Don’tcha think that’s a little bit weird?”

The genius is taken aback.

Peter has called him “Mr. Stark” for as long as he’s known him. Tony has gotten so used to it that he hasn’t thought for a second about his son calling him anything else.

But all the same.

Peter is  _ his son. _

“I,” Tony starts, “Never thought about it, to be honest with you.”

“You haven’t thought  _ once _ about Peter actually calling you, ‘Dad’? Or ‘Tony’ at least -?”

_ “No,” _ said man scoffs, “I haven’t. And that’s a big deal why?”

“I mean it’s probably not -”

_ “Probably -?” _

“It’s just, I don’t know, weird. You guys stick together like glue, he clearly  _ loves _ you like you’re his dad.”

Tony can’t help the TV static feeling that flows through him, now welcoming him like an old friend instead of a new, mysterious sensation. He masks his growing smile by taking a few more gulps of his beer while Rhodey continues.

“But I still don’t get why he’s still addressing you as if you’re his boss.”

“I mean,” the other hero grunts, “I don’t know, but like you said, we’ve gotten closer, things have gotten  _ better. _ I’m not gonna let one nickname set us back ten steps -”

“But if he starts calling you something that’s not the formal ‘Mr. Stark’, you could go forward fifty.”

“So what am I supposed to do then, make him call me something else? I’m not about to go out of my way to make him feel uncomfortable -”

“Just talk to him, Tony.” Rhodey takes another swallow of his beer, putting the half-empty bottle on the coffee table, “Maybe get a feel for why he still calls you that.”

_ Y’know, of all the things to get insecure about, this is not what I expected. _

-

"You want some hot cocoa?"

Tony looks up from his Starkpad, eyes softening at his son offering him the hot beverage.

"Only if you have some with me," he says with a smile.

Night has fallen and Rhodey has gone back to his place. Tony hates to admit it, but that conversation is the only thing that’s been on his mind all afternoon.

Why doesn’t Peter call him “Dad”, “Tony”, or something that’s not a name addressed in a formal letter?

Are they really as close as Tony thought?

The man thinks about the past few months: the blanket fort, the road trip, all the tedious court appearances, getting a cat.

_ Surely, Peter must know he loves me, right? _

_ What have I done to make him feel otherwise? _

Peter’s response snaps the older Stark out of his stupor, "What do you take me for?" the boy snorts, holding up his own cup as he hands his dad his. He then sits next to him on the couch, sipping from his mug that's piled  _ much _ higher with marshmallows.

“You jipped me on the marshmallows,” the billionaire sasses, smirking at his kid. Moonpie then suddenly jumps on top of the upright sofa cushions, stretching into an almost straight line between them with her head resting next to Tony’s.

“Oh my God,” said boy playfully retorts, briefly stroking his pet’s back, “Last time you complained about having  _ too many _ marshmallows -”

“Well,  _ now _ I want more -”

“You’re impossible,” Peter chuckles.

They sip on the beverages in silence, with Tony putting his Starkpad aside in favor of turning on the TV and settling on an old sitcom rerun, occasionally petting between his cat’s shoulder blades.

The silence is tense, the hero notices.

He takes a sideways glance at his kid, noting the way he’s biting his lip, gripping his coffee mug a bit too tight, his fingers tapping against it just fast enough to not be considered casual.

_ Something’s up. _

Instead of asking, Tony decides to wait for his son to start talking. Peter gave him hot chocolate and isn’t moving from his spot, so he will talk eventually, even if it takes three hours’ worth of  _ Cheers _ episodes to get him to do so.

They continue sipping on the cocoas from one episode to the next, with the tyke becoming more restless as time goes on.

_ Don’t crack, don’t crack, don’t crack - _

“Are you mad at me?” Peter asks.

His dad turns to him, seeing him stare into the almost melted marshmallows as if it’s the best painting to ever exist.

“Why would I be mad?” he says, putting down his mug so he can give his son his full attention.

“You know,” Peter shrugs, “For not calling you ‘Dad.’”

_ Shit. _

“You heard everything, did you?”

The tyke nods his head, “I didn’t mean to but I was walking out of your closet and I heard my name and I, uh, couldn’t resist.”

“I’m so sorry, kiddo -”

“No, no, no,  _ I’m _ sorry I don’t call you anything else -”

“Hey, listen to me.” Tony turns to the kid, crossing his legs on top of the sofa cushion, ignoring the look of surprise from Moonpie at the change of position, “You can call me whatever you want.”

“But -”

“Nope, don’t listen to what Rhodey said, I truly don’t care. Honestly, I didn’t notice the name until he brought it up.”

“Really?” Peter asks, copying his dad by turning directly towards him, crossing his legs while putting his own mug on the coffee table.

“Really. You can call me whatever name you want…except something like ‘Iron Fuckface’, I wouldn’t like that one very much -”

The boy cuts him off with a burst of laughter, “Why would I ever call you that?”

“Hey, you never know,” the older male adds on a chuckle himself, “We could get in an argument, things could get said -”

“That name has - honest to God -  _ never _ crossed my mind.”

“Well,  _ that’s _ good to know,” Tony responds sarcastically, “Just don’t call me that and we’re golden -”

“But you don’t like that I still call you, ‘Mr. Stark’,” Peter says, his whole demeanor turning solemn, “Do you?”

The mechanic’s face falls as well, “Peter -”

“Be honest. I could tell with Rhodey, you sounded kinda, I don’t know, hurt or-or something.” The child’s gaze goes to his lap, “I’m sorry, and-and I’m sorry that I still don’t wanna call you ‘Dad’ -”

“Kid, we still haven’t been living together that long, I get it -”

“No, but,” Peter groans, “I haven’t called anyone ‘Dad’ since I was six, okay? That name is just…weird to me.” He slowly looks back up at his father, “Me not calling you ‘Dad’ has nothing to do with you.”

“I understand that,” Tony says, sympathy etched in his tone.

“And with the families I’ve been with, yeah, I called them by their actual names, because I was never close with them.”

_ Shit. _

_ We really aren’t that close, are we? _

“But living with  _ you,” _ Peter goes on, “I feel close with you, I haven’t felt this close with anyone since my parents.”

There’s that TV static again.

The younger Stark continues, “But just calling you ‘Tony’ doesn’t feel right either ‘cuz I called my other foster parents their real names: S-Skip, Joanie, Larry, Susan, all these basic-ass names of people that I don't wanna talk to anymore.”

“So how does ‘Mr. Stark’ play into all of this?” 

“I, I think, um,” the teenager takes a moment to come up with an answer, his face adorably scrunched in thought, “It started out as just being polite. I mean I gotta be polite to Iron Man or I’ll like die or something.”

“You think correct,” the hero says with a snort.

“But over time, it felt so, uh,  _ normal _ to call you that. It rolled off the tongue like ‘Dad’ did for me when I was little.”

_ Oh my God. _

_ “Mr. Stark” is his version of “Dad.” _

“So I guess,” the boy then concludes, “That’s why I still call you, ‘Mr. Stark.’ It always, uh…felt right, if that makes sense. So, um, can I still call you that?”

_ He’s been calling me “Dad” this whole time but in his own way. _

_ Don’t cry, Tony. _

_ You better not fucking cry. _

A heartfelt grin breaks out across the hero’s face as he puts a comforting hand on his son’s shoulder, giving it a light shake, “You are something else, my young grasshopper.”

Said kid releases a reluctant giggle, “I hope that something else is a good thing -”

“It’s the  _ best _ thing.” Tony tightens his grip, “You can absolutely still call me that. I don’t mind.”

Peter releases a sigh of content, “Thanks.” He grabs his mug from the coffee table only to frown at how little is left of the beverage, “I kinda want more hot cocoa.”

_ “Cheers _ isn’t going anywhere,” his dad says, gesturing to the TV. He turns back to forward-facing and grabs his own half-full mug, holding it out to the tyke, “Top mine off if you can, and I better have a  _ pound _ of marshmallows in here.”

The boy laughs fully, “Yes,  _ sir.” _

As Peter is doctoring up their hot chocolates, his hero is left staring aimlessly at the TV, not paying a lick of attention to whatever episode is playing.

This kid has technically been calling him “Dad” since before Tony even adopted him.

_ What…do I do with myself now? _

More fuzziness floods him from head to toe, showing no signs of going away anytime soon.

And why would Tony want that anyway?

The man’s eyes start glistening -  _ glistening _ \- with unshed tears, this whole concept of crying and showing emotion is completely new and uncharted territory.

He’s hastily rubbing his eyes when he hears growing footsteps, taking a silent but deep breath as he takes back his mug of cocoa. He can’t help but smile at the significantly larger amount of marshmallows.

“Is that enough marshmallows,  _ your Majesty?” _ Peter asks, cracking a smile as he nestles into his dad’s side, said man moving that arm and wrapping it around the tyke’s shoulders while paying no mind to the cat who’s falling asleep behind them.

“Perfect,” Tony says, giving his son a kiss on the top of his head.

_ More perfect than you’ll ever know. _


	19. Memory Lane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter walks to the side of the sofa, on the opposite end of his dad, "Um, Mr. Stark?" he whispers.
> 
> "Yeah?" said hero looks up from the periodical, his face a look of curiosity.
> 
> "Uh," the kid bites his lip, pushing his glasses further on his nose and nervously scratching the back of his neck, "Can-Can we go somewhere? Please?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this one's a little sad, I'm gonna be honest, but it does end on a good note.
> 
> So now I'm only one ahead on my prompts 😂 and with Thanksgiving this week and traveling, I don't know how much free time I'll have to get any writing done so I'm saving the next prompt to post later on this week. 
> 
> I just don't want you guys to go a long time without any updates but the rest of the story is planned out, it will be complete sometime soon!! Thank you guys so much for reading and for bearing with me, your feedback is seriously the best thing ever. I hope you enjoy this update!!! 💜💜💜

Peter is feeling sad today.

Not that this is a new thing. The bad days are still much too common but it’s been a while since he’s had one that’s lasted the whole day. He didn’t have a nightmare the night before, normally that’s the instigator.

_ Or did he have a nightmare and FRIDAY just didn’t let me know? _

Tony quickly asks the AI through his phone, his worry growing at learning that his kid actually slept the whole night.

So what happened that’s made him like this?

The whole day, Tony was walking on eggshells around his son, trying to smile when Peter is frowning or picking at his food. 

Even time in the lab isn't lifting this kid's mood.

But the mechanic is biting his tongue. He doesn't want to force it out of him like he had to about Skip.

_ Wait, could that be it? _

_ Is this about Skip? _

It would make sense, especially with the stress of the ongoing trial, the embarrassment of constantly having to talk about the repeated abuse to a courtroom full of people.

The man's heart breaks when it finally clicks, this being Skip-related makes so much sense that he feels a cloud of sadness overcome him too.

So, out of respect and privacy for the tyke, Tony keeps his mouth shut. This always passes and he just has to hope for tomorrow to not be the same way.

He is currently sitting on the couch with Moonpie sleeping on the cushion next to him, reading some sort of magazine he got in the mail when he heard footsteps descending from the stairs.

_ Keep your cool, Tony, keep your cool. _

Peter walks to the side of the sofa, on the opposite end of his dad, "Um, Mr. Stark?" he whispers.

"Yeah?" said hero looks up from the periodical, his face a look of curiosity.

"Uh," the kid bites his lip, pushing his glasses further on his nose and nervously scratching the back of his neck, "Can-Can we go somewhere? Please?"

-

It hits Tony like a sack of bricks when they arrive at their destination.

He didn't know what to expect at first, and taking directions from a fifteen-year-old who can't drive yet doesn't exactly make him feel confident.

But when he pulled into the parking space and took in the surroundings of gravestones and flowers, it all makes sense.

Peter wants to see his parents.

Tony puts the car in “park” but neither one gets out of the vehicle. The man takes note of his son’s fingers, how they’ve grown squirmy, his knee is bobbing, his gaze going everywhere except to the driver’s seat.

“Peter, don’t ever feel embarrassed about wanting to come here, I don't mind.”

Said kid takes a glance at his dad, somehow looking even sadder than earlier today.

_ Kid, what can I do, tell me what to do. _

Peter stares out the windshield, his focus on another family visiting a loved one’s grave, “My parents died nine years ago today.”

Everything in Tony deflates, not just with sympathy but understanding as well.

“Oh -” he starts but his kid interrupts.

“I know I’ve been off all day and I’m sorry.” The teenager glances at his father but quickly looks away, “I’ve tried so many times but I just can’t forget the anniversary date, y’know?”

_ Too well. _

_ December 16th, 1991. _

_ A day that will live in my infamy. _

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” Tony says, “Trust me, I know too well.”

Peter gives him a look of surprise, his eyebrows rising above the rim of his glasses, “Oh wow, you do know.”

“It was a long time ago -”

“But it still hurts though, doesn’t it?”

Tony doesn’t answer, seeing his kid’s eyes soften in understanding.

“Um,” Peter starts, his gaze going back to the windshield, “You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to -”

“I'd love to,” the billionaire says with a smile, “But only if you want me to come with you.”

The younger Stark hurriedly nods his head.

“Good,” the man continues, “Put your gloves on, it’s cold out.”

-

Neither Stark says anything for about the longest length of time.

Well, in actuality, it’s only been a few minutes but the silence is so awkward that time feels like it's moving at lightning speed.

The two of them are sitting in front of the conjoined gravestone with the names "Richard and Mary Parker" engraved. Old flowers sit in the middle, leaving Tony wishing he could've gotten some fresh ones before they got here.

He hears his kid sniffling next to him and Tony can't tell if he's about to cry or it’s because of the cold air.

Either way, the atmosphere is solemn around them.

The older genius starts comfortingly rubbing his son's back. He doesn't know how much good it'll do considering the heavy layer of fleece that’s in the way but he can't just sit here and catch a cold for nothing.

"Um," Peter starts, "Hey, Mom and Dad." His cheeks redden exponentially, "How's it going?"

Tony can't help but smile, both at the awkwardness and the way his kid is leaning into the comfort.

"Okay, stupid question," Peter chuckles, bashfulness etched in his tone, "But I hope you're happy where you're at. I'm a lot happier now but-but I'm sure you, uh, you know that."

"I’m sure they don't mind being reminded," Tony says softly.

"This might sound stupid," Peter says, looking up at his dad, "But sometimes I feel like they're with me."

"That's not stupid at all. I think they're with you too."

"It's like I get this fuzzy feeling sometimes and I know they're there." The teenager bites his lip before he adds on, "I get that fuzzy feeling a lot when I'm around you."

_ There’s that TV static again. _

"I get that when I'm around  _ you," _ the man admits, feeling his own cheeks heat up and mentally putting the blame on the cold weather.

Peter nestles more into his father's side, "But like when I was in court or on the witness stand, I got that same fuzzy feeling and I just, I have this feeling that they were there with me."

"I think they were too. They’re proud of you, you know that?”

The tyke snorts in response, “How do  _ you _ know -”

“They love you, why else would they be there with you?” Tony snickers, putting his around his kid’s shoulders, “They’re bragging about their son as we speak.”

The young genius sniffles once more, his cheeks a seemingly permanent shade of red, “I’m getting that fuzzy feeling again.”

_ Good, so it’s not just me. _

Peter continues, “And I can’t tell if it’s because of you or if my parents are here.”

Tony kisses the top of the other’s head, “How does ‘all of the above’ sound?”

The teen smiles up at his dad, laying his chin against the older man’s coat, “Perfect.”

They sit until the sun starts to set behind the trees, neither one realizing how much time has passed.

And Tony doesn’t care.

All of his tissues may have been used and the sleeve of his coat may have become damp with snot, but it’s all about the kid.

_ Always the kid. _

_ I’m sure the Parkers would agree with me on that. _


	20. Movie Night and Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The jury will return with a verdict in no time, their attorney said.
> 
> But that was a week ago.
> 
> And needless to say, both Starks are getting restless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!!!! I know it's been a minute but I'm back and the updates *should* be regular until the end of the story. I have the next chapter done and I'm working on the one after it now so *fingers crossed*
> 
> Thank you guys so much for your patience and I hope you enjoy this chapter!!!
> 
> No specific trigger warnings in this one, just the overall blanket warning of what the story is about but nothing gets talked about.
> 
> Again, thank you so much to my friend, [joyful_soul_collector](https://archiveofourown.org/users/joyful_soul_collector/pseuds/joyful_soul_collector) for beta-reading this chapter for me!! 💜

The jury will return with a verdict in no time, their attorney said.

But that was a week ago.

And needless to say, both Starks are getting restless.

Day in and day out, they’re waiting for someone to call, to let them know that the jury has made a decision and they’ll need to be at the courthouse as soon as possible.

Every day, however, no such luck.

Peter has been baking up a storm: brownies, cookies, moonpies in honor of his cat’s namesake, even an attempt at homemade cat treats that Moonpie won’t touch with a ten-foot pole.

It works for a while, the stress-baking. The activity does its job and it takes his mind off of the trial.

Until he’s done.

And then he gets jumpy until he can think of something else to do.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony says one morning, pouring his coffee while mentally preparing himself for another day of waiting, “Why don’tcha take it easy on the schoolwork, huh?”

With his mug in hand, he turns to see his son sitting at the kitchen island, laptop open and various textbooks and notes surrounding him.

“I don’t want you getting overwhelmed,” the billionaire concludes.

Peter gives him a simple shrug. “It takes my mind off of everything else. I’m almost done anyway.”

Tony’s eyebrows rise to his hairline. “You’re almost done at  _ seven _ in the morning?”

He hears his kid mutter under his breath,  _ “Shit _ -”

“Did you sleep?” The older man leans forward on the counter, giving the other a look of concern. “FRIDAY didn’t tell me anything -”

“Cuz I didn’t want her to,” the child groans, “I had a bad dream and I couldn’t get back to sleep so I just started doing this. FRIDAY wanted to wake you up but I begged her not to.”

“Why -?”

“You need sleep too,” Peter says matter-of-factly, “You can’t just live off coffee -”

Tony cuts him off with a snort. “Who says I can’t -”

“Every sleep expert in the universe.” A snicker escapes the boy. “I just feel bad that I always wake you up -”

“I don’t mind -”

“But  _ I _ do, so I figured I might as well get up. At least Mooney’s been good company.” Peter gestures to their cat sleeping on the barstool next to him, ears twitching with the rhythm of her breaths and her tail adorably tucked under her paws.

Tony can’t help but smile.

_ At least one of the three of us is getting a decent amount of sleep. _

“You wanna talk about it?” the hero asks, putting his attention back on his kid while taking a swig of his coffee, “The bad dream you had, you wanna get it off your chest?”

Peter looks up at him, giving him almost a pleading expression.

_ He’s gotten better at talking to me about Skip. _

_ But still, I might be overreaching. _

“Um,” the teenager starts, his gaze locked on his textbook, “S-Sk-Skip won.” He swallows a lump in his throat. “And, uh, the-the court said I had to go back and live with him again.”

_ Oh, thank God, he’s talking to me. _

The boy continues, “I know it’s stupid -”

“It’s not stupid.” Tony reaches across the countertop and gently grabs one of his kid’s hands, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Our brains, they’re still working even after we go to sleep. Your brain took your biggest fear and put it into overdrive.”

“My brain must hate me -”

“Sometimes I wonder the same thing about mine,” Tony grunts. He starts to pull away from their grip but his son tightens the hold. "I promise, I'm not going anywhere." 

Peter nods his head, "Logically I know that. Anxiety's such a bitch."

"I hear that," the mechanic says, "Hey, how 'bout we go into town after you're done? Getting out of the house might do us some good."

"Where're we going?"

"No idea, but not knowing is half the fun, isn’t it?"

The tyke laughs fully, giving his dad another round of TV static. “I guess so. As long as it gets my mind off of…everything, I’m in.”

-

Good news, it worked.

Between the park, a local taco place, and browsing through a few random stores, getting out of the house is exactly what the two Starks needed.

Bad news, however, it only worked until they got back home.

But not for the reason one may think. Things were fine when they returned to their “humble abode.”

Until Tony got the phone call during dinner.

“Was it her?” Peter says, dropping his fork as he locks his gaze on his dad from the other side of the dining room table, “The lawyer?”

“Yeah.” The older man puts down his phone, suddenly losing his appetite for the lasagna sitting in front of him. “The jury finally came to a decision. We need to be there at nine tomorrow.”

The boy slowly nods his head in response, pushing away his plate of food. He then crosses his arms on the table, his fingers absentmindedly fidgeting with his shirtsleeve.

“Pete, whatever you’re thinking, don’t -”

“But what if -”

“Nope, what did I just say -”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it,” the kid whines, “So, we're done now, right? Like, officially done?”

“Yeah, we’re done. You did everything you possibly could.”

“What if it’s not enough -”

“Hey, don’t go there.” Tony gives him an encouraging smile. “If you let yourself get into that mindset, you’re never getting out.”

He pushes his own plate out of the way while he continues, “No matter what happens,  _ please _ know that you did the right thing.”

Again, Peter simply nods his head. “It was nice seeing S-Skip  _ not _ smile for once. You think he’s scared?”

_ “Terrified,” _ his hero says with a smirk, the expression falling almost immediately, “How do  _ you _ feel?”

“What do you mean?”

“Y’know, with everything these past couple months have been: the hearing, the trial, you giving your statement day in and day out. I just wanna know how you’re feeling.”

“You’ve asked me that like a million times -”

“And I’m asking you for the millionth and  _ first _ time. In your eyes, was it all worth it?”

“Um,” the younger Stark trails off as he looks down at his arms, his father noting the tightened grip on his shirtsleeves, “I mean I guess so? I mean, there’s like a fifty-fifty shot of him going to jail so, uh, so that’s good.”

“That is -”

“But if he doesn’t then all this anxiety and  _ humiliation _ will be for nothing.”

“Really? I disagree.”

Peter’s head jerks up at that, giving the older man a puzzled look. “How? He’ll literally win -”

“In the legal sense, yes, but look at it this way: you’ve given him one hell of a fight.” The billionaire gives him another smile. “Right now he’s pissing himself he’s so scared and  _ you’re _ the reason for that. You destroyed his plan of you staying quiet so he could live the rest of his life in peace and content.”

An unexpected snort escapes the boy. “He’s probably  _ not _ pissing himself -”

“You don’t know that, he’s not here to defend himself.”

The tyke laughs fully, releasing another snort as he tries to calm down but to no avail.

The older man releases a chuckle himself, happy to see his plan working.

_ I don’t care what anyone says, his laugh is the most beautiful sound to ever exist. _

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Peter says, calming down enough to where he can form words, “I don’t regret doing all of this if that’s what you mean.”

“So, no matter how it goes tomorrow, do you have any regrets?”

The teen shakes his head. “Even if he does win, at least I didn’t like, shrivel up and die or anything.”

“Exactly. Also, you’re not doing school tomorrow.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna be fine -”

“Nope, I’m pulling the ‘Helicopter Dad’ card. With everything going on, you don’t need to add school on top of it.”

_ “Okaaaay.” _ The boy’s shoulders slump as he gives in to defeat yet a thankful smile forms, all the same. “Can we like, watch a movie or something?”

“Only if I pick it out this time,” the armored hero says with another smirk.

_ “Fine.” _ Peter rolls his eyes once again but this time it’s in jest. “But no romance.”

“You think I’m a masochist or something?” the older genius chuckles, “Why would I torture us with that?”

-

“Y’know, Mr. Stark, I never would’ve pegged one of your favorite movies to be  _ Big Hero 6.” _

“Why? ‘Cuz it’s a  _ cartoon?” _

“Well, yeah, most adults don’t like to admit they like kids’ movies -”

“Let’s get something clear: adults either say they like animated movies or they’re lying.”

“It’s like adults try to sound ‘adulty’ but they just sound boring at the end of the day.”

“Which is why you shouldn’t become one.”

The father-son duo is plopped onto the couch with said movie playing on the TV in front of them. It’s impossible for Tony not to notice the way his son is leaning into him, sitting so close that there’s not an ounce of space between them.

Or how stiff the kid’s whole demeanor has become.

Tony knows it’s due to the nervousness of the verdict, the no doubt hundreds of thoughts swirling through the poor guy’s head, ones that the man will probably never hear him say out loud.

No matter what he does, the hero can’t get his son to relax. Burying him in blankets, offering hot cocoa, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, not even Moonpie snuggling in his lap is putting this child at ease.

And so, by the end of the movie, all the energy the tyke expelled has landed him into a pit of exhaustion, his eyes drooping heavily as his head slumps against his dad’s chest.

Tony leaves the credits rolling, deciding that the familiar instrumental music might help the situation, and gently ruffles his son’s hair. “You getting a little tired, bud?” he whispers.

He feels the boy shake his head ever so slightly, thus ruining the alignment in his glasses. “Uh-uh….”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” The mechanic snorts while taking off his son’s glasses, putting them aside as he starts rubbing along the boy’s upper arm. “Alright, time for bed -”

_ “Noooo,” _ Peter moans, gripping a handful of his dad’s T-shirt, “‘M not tired.”

Tony fondly rolls his eyes.

_ At least he’s relaxed now. _

_ Granted, it’s ‘cuz there’s nothing left in him but beggars can’t be choosers. _

“Okay,” he says with a sigh, turning the TV back to cable, “A little bit more TV then it’s off to bed.”

At hearing no response, the man looks down to see his kid has successfully fallen asleep, his stature relaxed and complete with deep but even breaths.

_ What every parent wants to see. _

_ At least, I guess they do. _

Tony spends a few minutes mindlessly watching the last of some rerun of a food competition show, wanting to make sure his son is dead asleep with no plan of waking up while being put to bed.

_ So how the fuck am I gonna carry him? _

The end of the show soon comes to an end and the billionaire has the television turned off before another one begins. After lightly shooing Moonpie out of his way, he  _ oh so carefully _ positions the tyke in his lap sans the blankets. With one big huff, he stands up, miraculously carrying his kid with him.

_ His room just  _ had _ to be up the damn stairs? _

Somehow, somen way, Tony gets up the stairs without waking up Peter or tripping over the cat, giving him yet another reason to love hallway nightlights. He then gently lays his son on his bed, taking every ounce of energy not to just toss him onto the mattress.

He tucks the boy under the covers before sitting on the edge of the bed to take a breather.

_ I thought I was in better shape than this. I’m Iron Man for fuck’s sake. _

Moonpie then jumps onto the comforter next to him, rubbing her head along the hero’s forearm, conveniently in her sweet spot.

A smile escapes Tony as he gives her the attention she always craves. “You better watch him now, understand?” he whispers, “Anything happens, you let me know, deal?”

The cat, of course, doesn’t acknowledge what was said but judging by the influx of purring, a silly part of Tony’s brain likes to think she understood.

_ And on that note, Tony, go the fuck to bed. _

-

No power in the universe could have ever stopped Tony from flinching a few hours later.

It’s not the first tap on his shoulder or the second, but that third one has him sitting straight up on his bed, his head moving side to side as he wakes up fully. He almost shrinks into himself at catching the unexpected sight of his son standing next to his bed, the boy’s face dimly lit by the moonlight from his window.

“I’m sorry!” Peter yelps, taking a step back. His hair is disheveled, his arms are in a death grip around his panda bear, and he must not have bothered to grab his glasses from downstairs. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, “I just, I-I woke and you weren’t there and, um, I’m sorry -”

“No, no.” Tony takes a few exaggerated breaths, willing his heart rate to go back down. “It’s fine, uh, what happened, what is it?”

“Um,” Peter takes a look around the room himself, as if he’s searching for the answer. “I, I-I-I dreamt that Sk-Skip won again and-and,” he tightens his grip on his plushie, “I woke up and I thought I saw him in my room so, um…yeah.”

He then concludes, his voice in a tired and defeated tone, “I just wanted to check and make sure you were here. FRIDAY wanted to wake you up but I wanted to see you for myself.”

Tony turns to his son fully, gently grabbing his upper arm and giving it what the man hopes are comforting rubs. “He’s not here, I promise it’s just me. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you. No matter what happens tomorrow,  _ we’re not going anywhere.” _

Peter hastily nods his head, “Sorry -”

“Enough with the ‘sorries’, it’s okay. You wanna go back to bed?”

The tyke looks behind him through the doorway of his dad’s bedroom, biting his lip to show he’s deep in thought. He turns back around and gives him a small shake of his head, looking down in embarrassment.

“Hey,” Tony says, letting go of his son’s grip. When he has said teen’s attention, he pats the other side of his bed, “There’s room for one more.”

Peter races to the other side of the bed and gets under the covers, immediately snuggling with his stuffed animal. Mere seconds later, Moonpie joins them, curling up on the foot of the bed.

The older man goes completely horizontal, having to move his legs to accommodate the cat, and gives his son a light ruffle of his hair, “You good to go?”

The teenager nods his head against the pillow, “Thanks. Am I gonna feel better after the court thing tomorrow?”

Tony’s lips purse into a thin line, hesitant to give any specific answer. With a tired sigh, he finally decides on, “I hope so, kiddo, I hope so.”


	21. Hugs and Going Back to School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How can one word have the power to change _everything?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here!!! I hope you guys enjoy!!! 💜💜💜
> 
> ***Trigger warning: Final appearance of Skip Westcott and it's brief
> 
> Also, I'm not an expert in law, I hope it at least sounds believable 😂

“We plead the defendant  _ guilty.” _

That word.

That one single word.

How can one word have the power to change  _ everything? _

The two Starks look at each other in utter shock, Peter’s grip on his father’s hand increasing tenfold.

They did it.

_ Peter _ did it.

Both of them flinch at the snap of the gavel and turn back to the judge. Apparently, there was a lot of commotion but the father-son duo was too out of it to notice. 

The judge then gives the announcement, her tone just as sharp as it’s been since the trial began. “Steven Westcott, I hereby sentence you to fifteen years in federal prison, five years for each child you endangered.”

“Holy shit,” Peter whispers, looking up at his dad while also tightening their grip, _“Fifteen_ _years_ -”

“And she’s not even done,” Tony says.

The judge continues, “For the repeated sexual offenses against a minor, I sentence you to an additional ten years, bringing the total to twenty-five with an opportunity at parole after twenty.”

The two are, for lack of a better word, slack-jawed.

This, they’ve worked their way up to this,  _ Peter _ did this.

And it’s finally here.

It’s over.

The teenager covers his mouth with his free hand, lightly biting the skin in nervousness. “What happens now?” he asks lowly.

Tony lets go of their grip and wraps that arm around his kid’s shoulders, giving him a light squeeze. “Now, we go home and take a nap.”

“Maybe I won’t get a nightmare for once -”

Another smack from the judge’s gavel cuts him off, turning their attention to see Skip hilariously seething.

“This is bullshit!” the blonde shouts, ignoring the sobbing pleas from his wife trying to calm him down, “I told you, he made the whole thing up -”

“Would you like to add ‘contempt’ to your list of charges, Mr. Westcott?” the judge retorts in a neutral tone, glaring at the man before turning to everyone else in the courtroom. “Court is adjourned,” she says, smacking the gavel one last time before the crowd disperses.

Skip immediately stands up and turns to the two Starks, pointing his finger at the younger. “I’m gonna get you, you little shit! Just wait, I’ll be tracking your ass  _ down.” _

Tony tightens his grip around his son’s shoulders, every reassurance on the tip of his tongue but a sudden outburst from said teen shocks him to his core.

Peter starts laughing.

At first, it’s a slight snicker but it soon leads to a full cackle. “By the time he gets out, he’ll have to be put in a nursing home,” he says, low enough to where Tony can hear him, “And he’s over here trying to be  _ scary.” _ He grabs hold of his father’s hand that’s around his shoulder, squeezing it tightly like before.

A proud grin breaks out across the hero’s face as he gives his son a light shake. He then looks up to see a police officer dragging Skip out of the courtroom in handcuffs, the two of them locking eyes for a brief second before Tony winks at him.

_ Suddenly, those green eyes don’t seem as intimidating. _

_ Now, he just looks pathetic. _

The kid continues giggling as they watch Skip be taken into another room, complete with said man staring at him in shock. He definitely wasn’t expecting that kind of reaction from him.

_ Neither was I. _

“You were right,” Peter says, turning to his dad once the door closes, “That power’s gone…well, okay, not like,  _ all-the-way _ gone but some of it is, which probably makes no damn sense -”

“Yeah, it does,” the older man says with a smile, “Seeing him at rock bottom doesn’t make him seem so scary, does it?”

“Nope.” A victorious grin spreads across the tyke’s face. “So, uh, for real, what do we do now?”

“Whatever the hell we want.”

-

“Mr. Stark, what do I do now?”

“I said whatever we want, remember?”

“I know but -”

“Kid, you’re thinking too much.”

Tony and Peter are currently sitting at a two-top table in a local coffee shop - per Peter’s request - each sipping on their beverages of coffee and hot cocoa respectively. 

The man has never seen his son so lively as he is right now.

The smile that’s plastered on his face, the light bounce in his posture, how his shoulders are slumped as if he’s finally  _ relaxed. _

“What?” Peter asks, giving his father a look of confusion.

“What?”

“You’re smiling weird,” the boy responds with a chuckle, “It’s like you’re in a trance or something.”

Tony feels his cheeks heat up in slight embarrassment, straightening up while taking another sip of coffee. “Sorry, you just…you look a lot better is all.”

“I do?”

“Yeah.” The billionaire gives the other’s arm a playful nudge. “You don’t have that haunted look on your face anymore.”

The tyke’s face falls as more confusion sets in. “Wait, what do you mean -?”

“I promise, it’s nothing bad. It’s just, whenever you get a nightmare or you had to give your statement for the hundredth time this week, you always had this hurt look on your face, and I hated that I couldn’t do anything to help it.”

Peter’s eyebrows rise to just above the rim of his glasses. “Oh -”

“But right now,” Tony continues, gesturing to his son, “You look like a million bucks.”

That puts a smile right back onto the young genius’s face, this one more bashful since his own cheeks have developed a reddish hue. “Thanks,” he says, “But don’tcha mean a  _ billion _ bucks?”

A full-on cackle escapes the man mid-swig, causing him to spit its contents back into his cup. “What the hell was I thinking, you look better than me so  _ of course _ you look like a billion bucks.”

“I mean, I learn from the best.” Peter takes another gulp of his cocoa, the whipped cream giving him an adorable “mustache” until he uses his tongue to lick it off his face.

“You flatter me.” The hero gives him another nudge. “I’m proud of you, you know that?” he says, his voice going unexpectedly soft.

The redness in his son’s cheeks darken.  _ “Mr. Staaaark -” _

“Just making sure,” Tony says with a snort, “What you did, this whole trial, now  _ that _ is the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You flatter me,” Peter smirks, the expression soon turning into another genuine smile, “I don’t feel brave though. I mean, I feel good, I feel  _ amazing _ actually, but not brave. It just, I don’t know, it all just felt like the right thing to do.” 

“And that’s what makes you so brave, bud. You pushed through despite it being a very scary situation.”

“True,” the teenager says with a shrug, “Maybe it’ll hit me tonight or something.”

“Your brain could still be processing it too.”

“Um, also.” The boy bites his lip, tapping his cup in what seems to be nervousness. “I wanna talk to you about something.”

“Shoot.”

“It’s about school.”

“Remember my ‘Helicopter Dad’ card? You’re not doing school today, we’re celebrating -”

“No-no, I mean like, um…I mean like going  _ back _ to school. Like, y’know, doing  _ normal _ school.”

Tony is taken aback. “Really? You think you wanna go back?”

“I think so? I’ve been thinking about it a lot and, I mean, I’m not psyched about spending  _ all day _ at school but,” Peter’s voice gets quieter, “Having friends would also be nice.”

The mechanic’s eyebrows narrow, giving his kid a puzzled look. “I thought you had friends at your old school.”

“I mean yeah, but we don’t talk. ‘Facebook’ friends aren’t the same thing as actual friends, y’know? To be honest, my only friend is you and no offense, Mr. Stark, but having your only friend be your dad is kinda lame.”

Tony playfully scoffs. “Well,  _ I’m _ offended -”

_ “Mr. Stark -” _

“But I get it,” the older man says with a smile, “Everyone deserves to have friends and you’re certainly no exception. I can get you enrolled somewhere for January.”

“I can just go back to the school I was already at -”

_ “Hell _ no, you weren’t learning anything there -”

Peter cuts him off with a bout of good-natured sass, “How do  _ you _ know -”

“Well, were  _ you _ learning anything?”

“Well, no…not gonna lie, I was actually pretty bored.”

“That settles it then. Let me do some research and, uh, we’ll start things fresh in the new year. Are you sure you wanna do this?”

Peter nods his head. “Yeah, and don’t make me change my mind ‘cuz I know my anxiety will make me have second thoughts.”

His father can’t help but chuckle. “I relate but listen to yourself too, now. If you really get second thoughts, just tell me.” He then says, “I’m gonna miss my little chatterbox -”

_ “Stoppp,” _ the teen whines, a smile escaping him as his cheeks redden, “You keep saying stuff like that, I might actually change my mind.”

_ Is it bad that I kinda want you to? _

_ It’s gonna be lonely with just me and the damn cat. _

“Don’t tempt me,” the billionaire says, deciding to change the subject, “So, what do you wanna do now? It’s your day, after all.”

“Honestly, I know you said ‘taking a nap’ as a joke but I low-key want one now. Even after I got in your bed last night, I still didn’t sleep good.” Peter then says, his tone timid, “And you didn’t either, did you?”

“And that, Pete, is why God created coffee.”

“That’s a horrible way of looking at it,” the teenager says with a slight giggle, “Also, I just wanna be with Moonpie.”

“Well,” Tony starts, finishing the rest of his coffee before he continues, “Can’t keep her waiting, ready to go?”

“Yeah, sorry I’m not like, in a ‘celebration-y’ mood -”

“Hey, it’s been a stressful morning. Don’t ever explain the post-anxiety fatigue to me, I know  _ too _ well.”

“Why do our bodies hate us?”

“If I knew the answer to that, I’d be a trillionaire.”

The father-son duo stands up and they toss their cups into the trash before heading out of the cafe. Tony unlocks the car and is just about to open the door when a sudden weight engulfs him around his torso.

His son is giving him a full-force, Peter-size hug.

“Kid -”

“Thank you. For everything, I-I wouldn’t’ve been able to do this without you.”

Tony wraps his arms around the tyke, giving him a tight, heartfelt squeeze. “Yeah, you would’ve -”

_ “No, _ I wouldn’t’ve.” Peter rests his head against his dad’s shoulder. “I was, uh, I was gonna wait and hug you when we got home but, um, didn’t wanna.”

_ I’m gonna die of TV static. _

“Hugs are welcome, anytime, any day,” Tony says, “I’m glad you chose now.”

“Me too. But, uh,” Peter trails off as he lifts his head, taking a quick look at their surroundings, “People might start looking at us weird -”

“Let ‘em.” The billionaire gently coaxes his son’s head back onto his chest. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispers.

Yes, the two of them may have gotten a few weird looks.

And yes, hugging in a coffee shop parking lot is probably seen as unconventional.

But do they care?

_ Absolutely not. _


	22. Car Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mr. Stark, where are we going?”
> 
> “Nowhere. That’s the beauty of driving around, there’s no need for a destination.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!!! I hope everyone's having a good day and I hope you enjoy this chapter!!! 💜💜💜
> 
> ***Trigger warning: Anxiety is a big thing throughout this chapter but it doesn't escalate into an attack of any kind.

Something is off with Peter, Tony notices.

Nothing bad, per se, just…off.

And he can’t put his finger on why.

The kid did his schoolwork in silence, barely a sound to be uttered other than low moans of frustration.

_ Did he actually find a topic that was challenging for a change? _

Moonpie slept on his lap about the entire time.

In fact, the cat has clung to the tyke like glue for most of the day. After he’s done with school, she’s followed him up and down the stairs, to the kitchen, living room.

It’s like Peter bought an invisible leash and is putting it to good use.

Mid-afternoon has fallen and the sun is shining low through the living room, forcing Tony to close the blinds earlier than normal given this time of year. He glances at the top of the stairs for about the thousandth time today.

He hasn’t seen his son in a few hours now. Or the cat for that matter.

_ He’s a teenager, teenagers like their privacy. _

_ So leave him alone, Tony. _

_ It’s fine. _

He plops onto the couch, forcing open the local newspaper while instructing FRIDAY to turn on the TV for background noise.

But he can’t comprehend a single word.

He frustratingly tosses the periodical off to the side, his brain going into overdrive at what could possibly be bothering his son.

_ Another bad dream? But FRIDAY didn’t wake me up. _

In the week since Skip was sent to prison, things haven’t made a one-eighty degree turn like Tony was hoping. Nightmares are still prominent, as are the “bad days.”

But today doesn’t fit either of those molds.

The billionaire looks back up at the stairs, irrationally thinking that his kid can read his mind and will walk down any second.

_ Holy shit, he just wants to be alone. Why am I freaking out about this? _

_ But still, something’s off. _

With a frustrated huff, Tony gets off the couch and walks upstairs. He approaches his son’s cracked bedroom door, unexpectedly hearing sounds of a rain forest that’s either coming from his phone or laptop.

After a moment’s hesitation, he softly knocks.

“Come in,” Peter says, his voice too quiet for his dad’s liking.

Said man opens the door to see his kid lying in bed under the covers, with Moonpie curled up right next to his middle. Peter reaches for his phone and turns off the ambience before putting on his glasses.  “I promise I’m not being lazy,” he says in a rush. He sits up but remains under the comforter, causing his cat to release a mewl before she stretches into an almost straight line.

“I don’t care about whether or not you’ve done the dishes,” Tony says, “I’m just worried about you, bud.”

He sits on the edge of the bed and grabs ahold of his kid’s ankle, giving it and the fabric underneath a gentle squeeze. “You wanna talk about it?”

Peter shakes his head. “It’ll pass.”

“What will?”

“Um…it’s hard to explain.”

“Well, you better try 'cuz you're giving me a heart attack over here.” Tony starts stroking the top of Moonpie’s head, said cat purring as she angles to where her right ear is in his path.

“But I can’t explain it,” the child presses, “It’s just, I’m not…myself.”

While he pets the cat, the billionaire takes a discreet glance at his kid, his eyes skimming from the top of his head to where waist meets comforter. 

_ What does he mean by “not himself”? Is something wrong with him that I can’t see? Do I need to take him to a doctor - _

Tony finally notices it.

The ever so slight tremble in his son’s fingers.

“You feeling jumpy?” he asks, motioning to sit cross-legged at the foot of the bed. 

Peter’s head jerks up in mild surprise. “Yeah, woke up with it. It normally passes by the end of the day.”

“You have anxiety  _ all day?” _

The tyke’s eyes widen, “You know what this is?”

“Kid, have you  _ seen me? _ You look up the word in the dictionary and a picture of me is right next to it. Why didn’t you tell me -?”

“‘Cuz I told you, it passes. Whenever I have an ‘anxiety day’, it’s shit but it passes.”

“Do you have these often?”

Peter shakes his head. “I had them some when I lived with Sk-Skip but I hadn’t had them in a while and just -” he cuts himself off with a groan while lightly banging his head against the headboard.

Tony watches on helplessly while Moonpie tiptoes back to Peter, lightly stepping on his lap and curling into a ball. The smile that spreads across the boy’s face is the only thing putting the older man slightly at ease.

“How’re you feeling?” the hero asks, “Talk to me, what happens when you wake up like this?”

“Uh,” Peter starts, biting his lip as he strokes his cat’s back, “I feel jumpy like you said. I feel on edge for no fucking reason, I get nauseous, I don’t feel like I’m all the way ‘here’ if that makes sense.”

“It does.”

“My heart beats really fast,” the teen continues, “Like, like it’s actually gonna bust out of my chest. And, um, you already know I pee a lot.” He looks at his phone that’s still on his nightstand. “Listening to a rain forest probably wasn't a good idea.”

“I relate,” Tony says with a snort, “What do you normally do to make all this pass?”

“I try not to do much ‘cuz the jumpiness gets worse. Sometimes listening to something calming like a rain forest helps but it’s not working today for some reason so I’m just, uh, waiting it out, I guess.” Peter looks up at his dad, “I’ll be fine tomorrow, I promise.”

“I have no doubt but that doesn’t mean you gotta waste  _ today.” _

Peter gives his father a questioning look. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, do you wanna know what _I_ do when I’m having an anxiety issue? Works every time.”

-

“Mr. Stark, where are we going?”

“Nowhere. That’s the beauty of driving around, there’s no need for a destination.”

The two Starks are in the car, Tony driving on some backroads. The only scenic views in sight are acres of farmland and houses with wraparound front porches.

_ Ah, the open road. _

Tony will never figure out what it is, but something about driving to nowhere always puts him at ease. Paying attention to what’s in front of him takes his mind of the anxiety while also giving him space to work through his issues in a logical manner.

He hopes it proves the same for the kid.

“How does this help you?” Peter asks, staring out the window at some cows they’re passing by, “I mean, we’re just driving.”

“Exactly, we’re  _ just driving. _ Putting our minds on just this one thing takes our minds  _ off _ of everything else.”

_ “Ohhh, _ like when I stress-bake.”

“Yup, exactly that.”

“So that’s why you like doing this?”

“Oh yeah. When you’re driving, no one expects anything of you. Whether you’re actually going somewhere or not, no one bothers you ‘cuz you can’t do anything else.”

“Oh, that’s sneaky,” Peter says with a smirk, “I like it.”

“Me too.” His father reciprocates with a similar expression, “So, how’re you feeling?”

The boy shrugs, “I don’t know, the same?”

“We haven’t been on the road that long, give it a little bit more time.”

“Um,” Peter says, his voice softening, “I feel like a hypocrite.”

His father’s eyebrows narrow in confusion. “Why?”

“‘Cuz it’s like I’ve gone backwards. The last time I saw Sk-him, I laughed at him, like, I was actually laughing at him and I meant it, I felt  _ amazing. _ And now I’m just back at ‘square one’, it’s like my body’s been lying to me the whole time.”

“First of all, you’re nowhere near ‘square one’, and two, no one’s perfect. While Skip going to jail was an amazing feat, you’re still human, you have bad days like everyone else. Your brain's also still recovering from what you suffered.”

“Can my brain hurry the fuck up then?” The tyke then whispers, “Even in prison, he’s still haunting me.”

“In times like this, it’s super important to look at the positives. Yes, your recovery may be going slower than you’d like but Pete,” Tony gives said kid a smile,  _ “You sent him to prison. _ Right now, as we speak, he’s in an orange jumpsuit, making twelve cents an hour doing other people’s laundry. And every night for  _ at least _ the next twenty years, he’s sleeping behind a jail cell. If that’s not something to be proud of, I don’t know what is.” 

“Well, when you put it  _ that _ way,” Peter chuckles, “It sounds pretty sweet.”

“Don’t let yourself forget that. And on top of all of that, you  _ laughed _ at him, and he saw it. That was the biggest and best ‘fuck you’ I’ve ever seen, I still wish that was filmed.”

Peter’s cheeks redden profusely. “Thanks. If only that ‘fuck you’ cured my anxiety.”

“Unfortunately, we’re not miracle workers.”

“Also, you bringing water with us is just cruel and unusual punishment.” The boy gestures to the center console where the two water bottles sit in drink holders.

“Well,  _ pardon me _ for wanting my kid to stay hydrated -”

“While _your_ _kid_ already has to pee like every twenty minutes -”

"I'd rather make twenty pit stops than you get dehydrated." Tony grabs a water bottle and hands it to his son, "C'mon, you've barely drank anything today."

Peter rolls his eyes, sighing defeatedly as he grabs the bottle. "You're the worst."

"Don't I know it," the man chuckles.

The kid unseals the cap and takes a few swallows. "Don't get mad when you actually have to make twenty stops."

"I don’t remember you getting this dramatic when you have anxiety, damn -"

"You're one to talk Mr. 'Complains About a Papercut All Day’ -"

"That’s different, papercuts  _ suck _ -"

"So does having to  _ pee _ every twenty minutes."

The two of them get into an unexpected giggle fit, so loud that neither of them can hear the radio. 

_ They say laughter is the best medicine. _

_ That better hold true here, whoever “they” are. _

“Is this how all ‘anxiety car rides’ go?” Peter asks once they settle down, “Us laughing about stupid shit?”

“I don’t know, you tell me. I’ve only ever done this solo.”

“Well, I’ve never done this at all, so you know more about it than I do.” The teenager puts the now partially-empty water bottle back in the drink holder and curls into his seat, facing his dad, “Huh.”

“What?”

“That helped a little.” Peter moves the strap of his seatbelt to get in a more comfortable position. “So I gotta laugh for like four more hours.”

“Knowing you, that won’t be hard to do.” A smile escapes Tony as he glances at his kid, his ears perking up at hearing the other’s stomach growl. “Ooh, somebody’s hungry.”

“Sorry,” the tyke says sheepishly, “But I’ve been too anxious to actually eat much so being hungry means this whole thing is working.”

“You had me at ‘you haven’t eaten much’,  _ seriously, _ Peter -”

“I told you I get nauseous, I hate eating when I’m nauseous, I’m scared I’ll throw it up. You don’t eat much either when you have anxiety -”

“Alright, alright, you got me. We’ll head into town and see if there’s anything there, sound good?”

The kid nods his head, “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“Anytime -”

“No, I mean, driving like this. It’s kinda fun, not gonna lie.”

“Good, I’m glad,” Tony says with another smile, “I was hoping you would ‘cuz I got nothing else.”

Peter snorts.  _ “‘Father of the Year’ -” _

“Hey, fun fact: every dad in the world thinks the same thing, I’m just the only one who has the guts to actually say it.”

_ “My hero -” _

“Damn straight.”

“No, damn  _ ace, _ get it right.”

Tony can’t help but release a hearty chuckle.  _ “You’re _ the one who’s actually the worst, y’know that?”

“Oh yeah? Look me in the eye and tell me you hate that pun.”

The older man simply responds with another cackle. “It’s so awful that it’s fantastic.”

“All ace puns in a nutshell.”

The two Starks continue down this long, winding road, soon spotting a sign that leads to civilization.

Which means that they’ll be getting food before they’re on the road again.

Just letting the pavement do the directing for them.

This car ride is no longer a home remedy for a teenager’s anxiety.

But it’s become another vessel for a father and son to spend some quality time with one another. 

And nothing will come between that…well, except for one thing.

“I have to pee.”

“Of course you do -”

“Hey,  _ I warned you.” _


	23. Junk Food and Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They end up at a park.
> 
> After making a pit stop at a local McDonald’s, the car immediately fills with comforting smells of grease and fried potatoes.
> 
> Not exactly a healthy way to rid one’s anxiety but better to eat unhealthy food than be hungry all day.
> 
> _That’s probably not in the parents’ handbook._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I can't believe we're so close to the end!! I'm working on the last chapter now so I'm planning for this to be done sometime this weekend!!!
> 
> Both prompts here are kinda "blink and you miss it" solely because I wanted them to drive around more 😂 I like writing them talking while in the car, don't ask why lol, I hope you enjoy!!! 💜💜💜

They end up at a park.

After making a pit stop at a local McDonald’s, the car immediately fills with comforting smells of grease and fried potatoes.

Not exactly a healthy way to rid one’s anxiety but better to eat unhealthy food than be hungry all day.

_ That’s probably not in the parents’ handbook. _

_ But who actually follows those books to a T? _

And Tony didn’t want to eat his burger while driving so here they sit, staring at a fountain that’s not currently running, most likely due to the cold weather.

“Well, that’s boring,” Peter says, also staring at it while taking a bite of his burger.

“Yep, but necessary. Get used to that for the next few months.”

“Winter’s depressing and it’s not even here yet.”

“But hey, no bugs.”

“And Christmas will be here soon -”

“We have a month, don’t rush it -”

Peter cuts him off with a scoff, “I’m a kid, I’m  _ supposed _ to rush it.”

His dad grunts as he digs into his own burger. The two of them spend the next few minutes in content silence, the only focus is on the junk food in front of them.

As ironic as it sounds, Tony loves it when they get like this. The need to not say anything, how they can still bond without either of them saying a word. There’s nothing groundbreaking about this, of course, but all the same.

It’s just nice.

The two Starks remain in the car long after they finished their food, neither one jumping at the opportunity to get out of the vehicle and face the harsh chill.

So they stare at nothing instead.

The standing fountain, trees bare of leaves, birds that didn’t fly south for the winter.

Honestly, the scenery could be better.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we drive again?”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

Tony puts the car in “reverse” and starts to head back home but he doesn’t stick to the route in favor of traveling on back roads surrounding it.

Again, a silence wafts over them but this one isn’t as peaceful as the first one was.

The older genius takes a sideways glance at his kid to see him curled up in his seat like before, but this time he’s biting his lip in a way that shows he wants to say something.

_ Does he have to pee again or - _

“Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah?” Tony briefly turns to the kid, showing that he was  _ not _ just staring at him a minute ago.

“Do you think I’m gonna get better?”

The man’s eyebrows raise in surprise, giving him a look of concern before putting his attention back on the road. “Absolutely, without a doubt.”

“But  _ when? _ I thought when S-Skip went to jail, I’d be done with this.”

“Kid, stuff like this doesn’t heal overnight, as much as we wish it would.”

“But it’s been a week -”

“Exactly,  _ only a week. _ You gotta take it one step at a time -”

“What even is the first step -?”

“You telling me what happened, that was the first step.” Tony gives him a proud smile. “The second step was sending Skip’s ass to prison.” He grabs onto the other’s ankle that’s curled up in his seat, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “But this third step is gonna take a little bit longer.”

“But I already hate it, I’ve hated it forever -”

“I know, and I can’t imagine how much all of this has got to suck but one day, this won’t bear over you anymore. I just hate that I can’t tell you when that day is gonna be.”

“I just don’t know what to do,” Peter says lowly, “I still get nightmares, I still…feel him sometimes, and-and no matter how many showers I take, it doesn’t go away.”

_ Shit, Rhodey was right. _

_ He might need a therapist. _

"Okay," Tony starts, "So I've thought about something."

"What?" Peter leans forward and props his elbows on top of the armrest, causing his dad to let go of his grip.

"Rhodey has a friend." The man tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

_ Should I even bring this up? _

He continues, "He said she helped him when he got out of the Air Force.”

"Helped with what?"

"Uh, well?" Again, Tony hesitates.

_ Welp, I can't  _ not _ bring it up now. _

He takes a deep breath and finally comes out with it. "She helped him, uh, clear his mind, deal with everything, uh, emotionally -"

"No -"

"What -?"

"I don't wanna see a shrink."

"Peter -"

"I don't wanna talk to someone who's just gonna pick my brain like a monkey -”

“That’s not what she’s gonna do.” Tony gives his son an incredulous look. “Why are you so against this -?”

“‘Cuz, I -” the teenager cuts himself off with a groan. “I’d rather just fix this myself.”

“And how’s that going for you?” 

“Mr. Stark -” Peter whines but his father interrupts.

“Peter, you gotta realize that you can’t fix everything yourself, no one can. If you could, you wouldn’t’ve been feeling anxious all day -”

“But another person would know.” The boy wraps his arms around that armrest, seemingly in a death grip. “I really don’t want another person to know,” he whispers.

“She won’t just be another person, she’ll be your  _ doctor, _ she legally can’t tell anyone whatever you tell her.”

“I just, I don’t know…can I think about it?”

“Of course.” Tony lightly ruffles his kid’s hair. “I just want you to get better, kiddo.”

“Me too, but is seeing a shrink really necessary?”

“I don’t know, to be honest.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if this woman will actually help you or not, every person’s different. But you won’t know until you  _ try.” _

The tyke releases a disgruntled sigh, propping his elbows back onto the armrest. “Can I think about it?” he repeats, “Maybe I’ll think more clearly after this anxiety thing passes.”

“Deal. Just promise me you’ll  _ actually _ think about it and you’re not just telling me that -”

_ “Yes, _ I promise.” Peter rolls his eyes. “I was afraid of this.”

“Afraid of what?”

“That I’d be so screwed up that I have to go see a shrink.”

“Seeing a shrink doesn’t mean you’re ‘screwed up.’ You’re admitting that you need help, that you can’t do this on your own.”

“But  _ you’ve _ been helping me -”

“And I wish I could do more but I can’t. I don’t know where to go from here but  _ she _ will, that’s what she specializes in.” Tony ruffles his son’s hair once again. “You may not know this now but admitting that you need help is proof of how strong you actually are.”

“That’s the most oxymoronic thing you’ve ever said.”

“But it’s the truth. You want to get better and this is one hell of a huge step.”

“So I’m not strong if I  _ don’t _ get help?”

“Nope, don’t put words in my mouth. I’m just saying that you reaching out for help doesn’t mean you’re  _ not _ a strong person, not in the slightest.” The hero takes a glance at his kid. “This probably isn’t helping the anxiety thing at all, is it?”

“Uh, I mean, kinda?” Peter says with a slight chuckle, “Just us talking is helping, doesn’t matter what the subject is. Unless it’s lovey-dovey stuff.”

His father grunts as another smile escapes him. “A guarantee with us: sex will never be a talking point.”

The teen’s face scrunches in disgust. “Y’know, I was living in this bubble where I pretend sex doesn’t exist and you just reminded me it does and now I’m  _ annoyed.” _

“Welcome to my life: ‘What happened to Tony Stark?’, ‘What’s new in Tony Stark’s love life?’, ‘Is Tony Stark hiding a new  _ girlfriend?’ _ Yeah, that shit gets old real quick.”

“Why are people so nosy and gross, it’s literally none of their business.”

“They don’t care, that’s where all the ‘juicy gossip’ lies. It’s their job to be nosy and gross.”

“I hate people.”

“Why else do you think I’m never around any of them?”

The two of them laugh once again as the mechanic turns onto another back road. “This is helping a lot, actually,” Peter says, his voice just above a whisper.

“Good, I’m glad. You ready to go back home -?”

_ “No! _ Uh, five more minutes? Please?”

“Kid, I still have over half a tank, this can go on for  _ hours _ if we want.”

“Sweet, ‘cuz, uh, I kinda don’t want this to end.”

_ Me either, kid. _

_ Me either. _


	24. Making Something Beautiful and Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mr. Stark, I’m not getting better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!!! I can't believe it's over, it feels like comfortember started just yesterday 😭
> 
> Thank you guys so, SO much for supporting me and for reading this story!!! I'm so glad it's been well-received, I just hope this last chapter seals it up nicely for all of you!!
> 
> As for comfortember itself, it was a HUGE success and I can't thank all of you enough, whether you're a content creator or a supporter of the craft, YOU made this possible and for that, I'll be forever grateful.
> 
> Btw, I'm _absolutely_ doing this again next year, I can't wait!!! Thank you guys again, I hope you enjoy this last chapter!!! 💜💜💜
> 
> There's a lot of tech talk in this chapter and um, I hope it sounds believable cuz it's most definitely not accurate LOL
> 
> And yes, it's very cheesy...you might get cavities, you have been warned 😂

“Don’t look!”

“Pete, last time I checked, I thought we were  _ both _ allowed to be in the lab at the same time.”

Tony takes a few steps into the lab, one eyebrow raised at his son’s awkward stance, making it obvious that he’s hiding something on the worktable behind him.

“Just,” the boy starts, “Can you like, give me another day or two?”

“Kid, you’ve been kicking me out of  _ my _ lab for what, three weeks now -”

“Well,  _ pardon me _ but I don’t want you seeing your Christmas present - oops.”

A burst of warmth fills the man’s chest. “You’re making me a Christmas present?”

“Damn it.” Peter shyly scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah, so please just a little longer? I promise I’m almost done -”

“You said that last week -”

“I actually mean it this time,  _ please?” _

The hero releases a good-natured chuckle. “Well now that I know it’s for  _ me, _ take all the time you need.” He looks up and around his kid, pretending to try to see his present while laughing at his kid acting like a soccer goalie.

_ “Mr. Stark -” _

“Oh,  _ relax, _ I didn’t see anything.” Tony then asks cheekily, “So, whatcha making?”

“Oh my God, you’re worse than a six-year-old,” his son quips with a laugh,  _ “Leave, _ already.”

“Alright, alright, keep your shoes on.”

“I’m not wearing any shoes -”

_ “You know what I mean. _ Now, even though you’re making something for  _ your one and only, _ you still need to eat. C’mon, dinner’s ready.”

“I’ll be right there -”

_ “Pete -” _

“I promise.”

“Five minutes,” Tony says with a huff, “And don’t think I’m not keeping a timer.”

_ “Somebody’s _ ‘Helicopter Dad Mode’ is overheating -”

“Oh, hush.”

-

“Mr. Stark, I’m not getting better.”

Tony looks up at the kid in surprise. “You think so?”

Peter nods his head, his response in a solemn tone. “I’ve had bad dreams almost every night this week. I still think about _him_ a lot and I always feel gross, I…I’m not getting better.” His gaze goes to the bowl of tomato soup in front of him, as if he’s looking down in shame.

His dad’s heart breaks for the tyke but he feels a sense of relief as well. Tony knows how much his son has been struggling, the lack of sleep and increase in showers making it obvious. But since that car ride, the boy hasn’t mentioned anything more about getting help.

Peter said he’d think about it, and as much as his father has wanted to bring it up, he knows it’s the wrong move. Constantly telling someone what they should do just equates to that person doing the opposite, whether it be from stubbornness or getting overwhelmed.

So instead of saying what he wants to say, Tony tries to get the teenager to admit it himself. “What do you want to do about that?” he asks.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“Then what do  _ you _ think?”

Peter’s eyes dart back and forth from his soup to his dad, fidgeting with half of his partially-consumed grilled cheese. “Do you really think a shrink’s a good idea?”

“Don’t let my opinion sway yours, what do  _ you _ think? What’s your gut telling you?”

The tyke shrugs. “My gut’s telling me I gotta fix this somehow. I, uh, I kinda panicked when I was making your present ‘cuz um, ‘cuz what if I’m still like this when I’m your age?”

“You won’t be -”

“How do you know that?”

“‘Cuz over time, it’s going to get easier. You won’t think about him as much, the memories will fade. You’re probably always gonna remember it but it won’t be as fresh. The keyword here is ‘when’?”

“You think this shrink will determine that ‘when’?”

“We won’t know for sure until we try. But, assuming you guys click and she lives up to her title, that ‘when’ will be a lot sooner than the ‘when’ for right now.”

“What if she doesn’t work -?”

“We’ll find someone else.”

“What if  _ none _ of them work -?”

_ “Someone will. _ Peter, despite what your brain might be telling you, you’re not a hopeless case. If you’re looking for help, you’re gonna find it.” 

Tony pushes his own soup and sandwich just far enough to where he can cross his arms on top of the dining room table. “So tell me, young grasshopper,” he says with an encouraging smile, “Are you looking for help?”

His son is still looking down when he slowly nods his head. “I’m scared,” he says.

“Of what?”

“I don’t know. Everything? Nothing?  _ Both?” _ With a defeated sigh, Peter props his elbows on the table and puts his head in his hands, mumbling through his palms. “Why am I like this?”

“‘Cuz anxiety’s a bitch,” the hero chuckles, “Do you want me to call her? I can have Rhodey give me her number.”

Again, Peter nods his head, spreading out his fingers just wide enough to where he can see his dad through his smudged glasses. “What if she doesn’t like me?”

“Kiddo, it’s scientifically  _ impossible _ for someone not to like you.”

“But there’s a first time for everything. What if she thinks I’m annoying?” The boy quickly takes his hands off his face. “Wait, am I being annoying right now?”

An unexpected laugh escapes the older man. “You just completed the first part of step three, you are the  _ last _ thing from annoying right now.”

The child’s cheeks blush to a pink hue. “I guess I’m just scared ‘cuz I don’t know what to expect.”

“Trust me, she’ll know that. You won’t be this woman’s first patient, she knows you're gonna be nervous and confused.”

Peter grunts. “Merry Christmas to me, I guess.”

“Santa Claus is coming a little early this year -”

“I’d rather him get me a Nintendo Switch, that’s a lot more fun.”

“Is that a  _ hint, _ I hear?” Tony smiles cheekily, quirking an eyebrow at his son.

The redness in the teen’s cheeks darkens.  _ “Noooo...” _

“You’re a terrible liar -”

“You’re no better -”

“Better than you -”

“Yeah, you keep thinking that -”

“No need to think it if it’s the truth.” Tony then says with a smirk, “Why don’t you finish eating, huh, soup’s gonna get cold.”

_ “Fine,” _ Peter replies with a chuckle, “But only because I won.”

“You  _ think _ you won -”

“Only losers say that -”

“Losers are the ones who think they won. Winners don’t feel the need to brag -”

“Well yeah, ‘cuz they didn’t actually win.”

The two of them laugh as they continue eating dinner, dipping their grilled cheeses into the tomato soup, thus making the perfect pairing for a cold December night.

“So what exactly did we win?” Peter asks.

“I have no fucking idea.”

-

Five minutes.

Tony will just be in the lab for five minutes to fix some faulty wiring with the microwave. Peter is still asleep - for once - so he will be none the wiser.

The man takes a cautious glimpse into the lab, stepping forward into the room at not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

He grabs his electric screwdriver and opens the appliance, quickly realizing that he needs new cords to replace the ones that are clearly shot.

_ I know I got some around here somewhere. _

He starts looking through nearby boxes and containers, frowning at finding every cord imaginable except the ones he needs. Tony tries one more box in his general vicinity, this one sitting open on the top shelf. While on his tiptoes, he inches the box closer to him but he underestimates the distance and the box falls into his hands, causing most of the contents to fall out onto the worktable and floor.

_ I should’ve just ordered another fucking microwave. _

With a frustrated huff, the billionaire puts - almost tosses - the items back into the box, cursing to himself at all the wasted effort since there’s not a single cord to be found.

After the worktable is cleared, he carefully bends his knees and starts picking up the items off the floor but an unfamiliar one makes him forget about the rest of the mess.

He picks up the item, staring at it in curiosity as he stands back up, his mouth forming into an unexpected smile.

It’s a figurine of Baymax from that movie  _ Big Hero 6. _

A movie that Tony has said is one of his favorites.

And apparently, Peter hasn’t forgotten.

_ This is my Christmas present. _

_ And now I feel like absolute shit. _

But he keeps staring at it, ignoring every part of his brain telling him to put Baymax back in the box. Despite feeling awful for ruining the surprise, he can’t stop smiling.

His kid made him his very own Baymax.

It’s about eight inches tall, just big enough to fit perfectly in his hand. The material is soft in texture but not so much that his thumb dents the figure. Several wires are sticking out of his back, showing that Peter is still not yet done with the gift.

And the color.

Who knew Baymax would look good in purple?

_ He even made a fucking robot ace. _

_ This damn kid. _

A warmth of fuzziness floods Tony from head to toe. He finds himself not bothering with the mess on the floor and instead leans against the worktable while admiring the doll, feeling the soft texture between his fingers. 

Nothing in the world can wipe the smile off of this man’s face.

_ “No!” _

Okay, except one.

_ Shit. _

_ Shit, shit, shit, shit. _

Tony’s head snaps to the doorway to see a heartbroken teenager with his cat darting by him. Moonpie rubs against the man’s legs for a brief second before she curls up in her bed on the other side of the room.

"I  _ swear _ I wasn't looking for it -" Tony starts but his son cuts him off.

"You ruined it!" Peter steps into the room, his expression turning from hurt to simply defeated. "You weren't gonna expect it -"

"You're right, I didn't." Tony gives him a sympathetic smile. "I'm _so_ sorry, this came up completely by accident."

The kid's shoulders slump. "Guess I should've hidden it better."

"It wasn't in a bad spot, actually. My dumbass just picked the wrong box to look through." The mechanic holds up the figurine. "Since when did you get into sewing?"

"Um," Peter says, mindlessly fidgeting with his fingers, "I didn't. I uh, I kinda stole it from you."

"Wait, what?" His dad’s eyebrows narrow in confusion. "This was _mine?"_

"Yeah." A smile slowly etches across the tyke's face. "Remember that one day when I asked to borrow one of your sweatshirts?”

“Yeah?”

_ “Wellllll, _ I saw Baymax wedged in the back of your closet.” Peter’s smile grows into a full grin. “He was so cute, I couldn’t resist. And you already have a ton of spray paint for some reason -”

“You never know when you get a mid-life crisis -”

“So I, uh, hope you didn’t remember having it.” The teenager gestures to the toy. “And I was right.”

Tony looks back at the figurine himself. “Where  _ did _ I get this?” he says, “Rhodey must’ve given it to me as a joke or something.”

“How can you joke about something as adorable as Baymax -”

“Adults don’t like kids’ things, remember? We’re _boring.”_

“Too ‘adulty.’” Peter steps closer to his dad. “So, uh, do you like it?”

Said man gives him a look of disbelief. “Are you kidding, I _love_ this.” His voice goes unexpectedly soft. “It’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“Oh, wow.” The hue in the kid’s cheeks darkens exponentially. “Um, good, I-I’m glad.”

“What does it do? Or do you still wanna keep some sort of surprise?”

“Nah,” Peter says with a shrug, “Cat’s already out the bag. There’s a battery pack thing in his back so he can say a few phrases if you press his right hand.”

Tony obliges, smiling fully when the doll’s voice sounds exactly like the character.

_ “Hello, I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion.” _

“I'm a pile of mush,” Tony says excitedly, “How many phrases does he have?”

“Uh, three,” the teen answers, giggling at his dad’s reaction.

The hero pushes Baymax’s hand again and another phrase follows.

_ “We jumped out a windooooow.” _

“He even sounds drunk here, like from that one scene,” Tony says, an unexpected laugh escaping him.

“Good," his son says with a sigh of relief, "I was hoping it would.”

The hero presses Baymax’s hand one more time.

_ “You will be alright. There-there.” _

Another round of lovable TV static engulfs the man. He turns to his son, setting Baymax onto the worktable. “He should be saying that to you,” he says.

“Do you know how many times I heard that when I was coding it into him? Trust me, he said it enough.”

“You put a lot of work into this.” Tony leans forward to where he meets Baymax’s eye level, inspecting both him and residual wiring. “Can he do anything else?”

“Well, I uh, I want him to do something else but I’m having trouble figuring it out. It’s why I keep telling you I’m almost done, even though I’m really not.”

“What is it?”

“Um.” Peter copies the same position as his dad, inspecting his creation while at the doll’s eye level, “I-I want him to glow in the dark.”

Tony’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah, ‘cuz um, I know you don’t like the dark very much so I figured he could be a cute, huggable nightlight.”

The older genius can't help but coo. “Aww -” 

“But whenever I install the lightbulb he looks bulky, so if you hug him, it might break. And sometimes the lightbulb doesn’t even work, or it stays on all the time instead of just in the dark.”

The scientist hums in concentration, his lips pursed into a thin line. “I might have something.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m sure there’s something in one of my hundreds of boxes.” Tony turns to his kid. “That is if you don’t mind me chipping in to help.”

“But it’s  _ your _ present -”

“But if we  _ both _ work on it, it could technically belong to both of us. And I’d much rather share him with you than keep him all to myself.”

“Well,” Peter says with a thoughtful hum, not unlike his father just a minute before, “He is really cute.”

“Adorable even.” The older Stark picks up the figurine, smiling again as he feels the soft material. “Thank you,” he says softly, “You’ve done an amazing job -”

“It’s not  _ that _ much -”

“You got him to talk and he actually sounds like Baymax, that is a feat in and of itself. Making him purple is just the icing on the cake.”

“I saw the opportunity to push the ace agenda,” Peter says with a laugh, “I couldn’t not do it.”

“Ace fits him.” Tony sets the toy back onto the worktable. “Alright, time to tear up the lab, I know I got something.”

“I mean, the lab’s already a mess -”

_ “Hush.” _

The two of them start searching through the seemingly endless amount of boxes, the loud sounds spooking Moonpie thus causing her to sprint to her hiding place under someone’s bed.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter asks while on a stepstool he grabbed from the kitchen, dragging yet another box to look through.

“Yeah?” His father responds, not looking up from his own container of junk, ironically finding the cords to that microwave and setting them aside.

“Have you called that lady yet?” The boy’s tone comes out in a whisper, as if he’s embarrassed to ask the question.

“Not yet, it’s Sunday. I’ll ask first thing tomorrow.” Tony takes a glance at his kid from the other side of the room. “Do you still want me to?”

“Um.” The kid puts the box on the table in front of him before turning to his dad, his face an unreadable expression. “I think so? I mean, it can’t hurt to try, right?”

“Absolutely not.” The older man walks to his kid, looking up at him since the tyke is still on the stool. “No matter what happens, whether she works out or we gotta find someone else.” He grabs onto the kid’s upper arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re gonna be alright.”

“You sound like Baymax -”

“Well, he  _ is _ a good role model.”

Peter releases a snort. “True. And-and, I mean, I have you and Moonpie, Rhodey, and of course, Baymax.” He tilts his head towards his creation on the other side of the room. “So I know I’m gonna be fine.” With a smile, he looks in the box, eyes brightening instantly. “Hey, is this what you’re looking for?” He pulls out some sort of wire with a tiny lightbulb attached to one end.

_ “Yes,” _ Tony says, his own face showing excitement, “This is exactly what I need.”

Both Starks race to Baymax and the hero immediately takes charge, with his son looking on in curiosity.

The lightbulb is installed within minutes.

“Oh my God, it was  _ that _ easy?” Peter says, picking up the now wire-free doll, “And it doesn’t even look or feel like there’s a lightbulb in him.

“He’s a beaut. Wanna test it out?”

_ “Duh.” _

They dart to the downstairs bathroom, the only room on the first floor that is both big enough for them and also contains no windows. Tony hasn’t even closed the door when he sees the doll already taking effect.

But once it’s pitch black, Baymax glows as bright as a moon overlooking the ocean.

Father and son can see each other perfectly despite the darkness, Baymax lighting up the room in a calming shade of purple.

Tony presses the figure’s right hand.

_ “Hello, I am Baymax, your personal healthcare companion.” _

“He’s beautiful,” Peter says, almost serenely as he stares at this cuddly nightlight, “I like him  _ so _ much better now.”

“Me too.” The billionaire grabs the doll from his kid and sets it on the counter next to the sink, staring at it for a few more seconds before surprising his son with a hug. “Thank you,” he says, kissing the top of the other’s head, “I needed this more than you know.”

“I needed  _ this _ more than you know.” Peter gives his dad a tight squeeze around his torso. “Merry early Christmas, Mr. Stark.”

Tony snorts into the tyke’s hair, “Merry early Christmas, kid.” He then pats the top of his kid’s head in a stiff manner.  _ “‘There-there.’” _

Peter barks out a laugh, the sound so loud that it echoes throughout the bathroom.

The best sound to ever exist.

And Tony will do his damndest to make sure that sound is here to stay.

-

Today is going to be a good day and here’s why:

Tony and Peter Stark have been father and son for about four months now.

They’re not perfect. Far from it, in fact. The two of them still have a ways to go on this complicated journey called “life.”

But they’re here. And they’re happy.

And that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!! I'm also on tumblr [@baloobird](https://baloobird.tumblr.com/)
> 
> If you want to participate in Comfortember, you still can! Please go this post [here](https://baloobird.tumblr.com/post/628378371956555776/comfortember) to learn more or go to the Comfortember side blog [here](https://comfortember.tumblr.com/)!


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